


Live For Me

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Ascalon, Battlefields, Boys Kissing, Established Relationship, Fanart, Fluff and Smut, General Geoffrey McCullum, Healer Jonathan, M/M, Medieval Medicine, Mild Sexual Content, Neck Kissing, Sexual Tension, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: A scholar’s life had once sounded so simple, a service to His Majesty as Jonathan helped ailing villages afflicted with rodent inspired plagues or improperly purified water that has stricken the community with dysentery. Teaching the masses in a wide open lecture hall lined with robed men and the rare woman eager to absorb as much knowledge as he had to offer in his fifteen years of experience, was a vast difference to now as he trained new nurses on the spot and was assisted by bumbling green horned medics barely well enough to step away from the sheltering eaves of their mentors’ wings and reputation.On this field, one becomes a man quickly be it by wielding a sword or sutures, they fought a similar war with a shared end goal. Mistakes were plentiful and deadly on these ashen hills scattered in the remnants of what used to be prosperous fields and farms full of livestock and hard working families. Little remained but the foundations carved in stone and the charred husks of cellars caved in by trebuchets.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 64
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing a lot of ESO lately and it got me in the medieval mood for writing. So I wrote a Fantasy AU for Jonathan and Geoffrey. Nothing like a nice AU to get back into the flow of writing for Vampyr again, and I can't help but fall head over heals for the imagery of Geoffrey in chainmail armor.

It was a morbid fascination that brought Jonathan to this point in his life, where fire and brimstone seemed to hail down upon the land, jagged debris and the rolling plumes of smoke that rivaled even the fiercest storm clouds that descended upon them with ill timed entrances obstructing any brief moments of clarity they may have had on the battlefields. A terrifying mixture of panic and pain as his fingers worked quickly to stitch lacerations back together. Severed limbs were a near death experience for the unwary and unfortunate soldiers that screamed in the rows of cots and stretchers that lined his makeshift ragtag infirmary. A mixture of poppy to ease the worst of the pain left the men in a drug induced stupor as he battled time and the fragile stability of the human physiology to save as many men as possible. He collected the dying like the reaper harbors souls and fought his own battle over the brittle and bloody terrain of each cot and its occupants.

A scholar’s life had once sounded so simple, a service to His Majesty as he helped ailing villages afflicted with rodent inspired plagues or improperly purified water that has stricken the community with dysentery. Teaching the masses in a wide open lecture hall lined with robed men and the rare woman eager to absorb as much knowledge as he had to offer in his fifteen years of experience, was a vast difference to now as he trained new nurses on the spot and was assisted by bumbling green horned medics barely well enough to step away from the sheltering eaves of their mentors’ wings and reputation.

On this field, one becomes a man quickly be it by wielding a sword or sutures, they fought a similar war with a shared end goal. Mistakes were plentiful and deadly on these ashen hills scattered in the remnants of what used to be prosperous fields and farms full of livestock and hard working families. Little remained but the foundations carved in stone and the charred husks of cellars caved in by trebuchets.

Atop it all like a leering beast was Fort Ascalon, a mighty beacon of oppressive control that loomed over the land and its fearful people. As the military forged on, the Fort remained a silent sentinel to the atrocities that besieged its miniature kingdom. Jonathan had seen it numerous times in his travels, an unpleasant climb up the mountain to beckon to the Lord within. Lord Redgrave, a man of myth and legend, and the sole surviving heir, or so they say, of William Marshall, the greatest warrior to have walked these fateful fields. Redgrave took Marshall's philosophies and his title and courted the masses until he built himself a tidy following. They considered it a coven of the one true loyal elitists of this land, men bestowed great power from their family lineage since their ancestors first sowed the seeds that made this land fertile and prosperous. Now it was lost to the destruction and greed of mortal impulses.

The bickering and squabbles would have been ignored, the infighting and abuse of authority wasn't an interest to the King or his Guard of Priwen. Something far darker lay between the lines. A secret missive that the King failed to share with his subjects regarding the true reason for this fight. General Geoffrey McCullum had spit tacks over the issue and the failure to inform him of the intricate investigation going on behind closed doors. 

Instead, Usher Talltree and his Brotherhood had been given the mantle to find the source of whatever issue Ascalon had fostered. McCullum and his men need only obey and destroy the problem as directed. Meanwhile, Jonathan stitched up their men and sent them back out to bleed and die in a relentless and painful cycle.

Jonathan had joined the scholars in service to the Horned One because he wanted to help and make a difference as a healer. To offer his services to his King and countrymen in a way that didn’t call for him to pick up a sword and slay his fellow kin over trifles. His oath stayed his hand and dictated that the only weapon he wielded was the one of knowledge against any evils that entered his domain. His arsenal of scalpels and curatives weren’t miracle restoratives but they were a certain combatant during difficult times. Far more reliable than magic by any measure.

“We’ll get ya to a healer right quick. Just hold on there Jonesy!” A ragged voice called through the folds of his medical tent. Jonathan turned in the midst of cleaning his instruments after a risky surgery to salvage an arm that had nearly been severed by the swipe of a sword. The soldier was resting in another tent under the watchful eye of his top alchemist, Dorothea Crane, and the attentive gaze of his companions.

The tan smock he wore to protect his signature white robes from the blood and fluids of his patients had yet to be changed into something fresh and clean, causing Jonathan to sigh in resignation that no matter how quickly he worked, he would never catch up with the flow of patients being dragged into his infirmary. At least this time he had a chance to change the sheets on the cot as a wounded man was brought in half carried by his friends. A deep laceration dissected his abdomen where the chainmail was damaged and ripped away by what appeared to be sharp claws.

“What happened?” Jonathan asked, more out of habit to keep his companions distracted and out of the way while he tended to the man. 

“Beasts, sir.” The soldier cried out. “Big gnarly feckers. Purple skin and bigger than a bear!” He wore the deep red markings of the Guard of Priwen, a crimson emblem of an abstract P shape drawn sharp and jagged with a midway cross in the center. They were McCullum’s boys. McCullum’s unit, contrary to popular belief, was considerably small. Smaller than most of the King’s men, constructed of handpicked troops, the best of the best in His Majesty’s army to rush the front and hold the line. They were a fierce addition to any fight and saw many swift victories in the past. This battle, sad to say, was one of the rare few that did not see a quick glory. It was drawn out with many unseen problems, such as the recent Vulkod issue. Beasts enslaved to serve their Ascalon masters. They were once a myth that few had ever found any concrete records of existing but this battle brought dozens from the bowels of the Fort, spilling into the ranks of their men and devastating their most elite combatants with a quick and powerful swipe of their claws. 

Neither side made any progress, the lines remained stubbornly drawn in place with no sign of budging. Ascalon made no attempt to push back and McCullum’s men didn’t have a chance to charge forward, running smack into a blockade at every turn. The frustrating terrain left them bottled into one narrow pass lined with archers and now, Vulkods.

Jonathan worked quickly to undress the straps of the armor with the assistance of the soldier’s comrades, allowing him easier access to the man’s wounds. Skilled hands worked expertly at their task with familiarity in every motion, never a wasted move, never a faltering step. He gave the soldier a dose of poppy milk to calm him and soothe his pain before sending him off to join the other resting men too weak and wounded to stand or wield a sword.

It carried on in a similar fashion for the rest of the day until night crept over the battlements and the troops pulled back to their camps with nothing more than the desolation of No Man’s Land standing between them and the watchful eyes of their foes. The Vulkods and other feral beasts prowled the line with glowing eyes and inhuman roars echoing in the night keeping the men on edge with nerves strung taut throughout the night.

Sleep eluded Jonathan as he scrawled his concerns and observations into his journals, a series of parchment and scrolls cluttered his work space in between alchemical formulas and the discard alembic he had been using the first night to brew a curative to slow the spread of an infection. The task had been later delegated to Miss Crane once he succeeded in the formula’s exact components and measurements. In the meantime, Jonathan spent more time in surgeries and tending to broken bones from shields and maces and stitching facial injuries from battered and cracked helmets to indulge in his own studies and curiosities.

His quill worked quickly, trailing dark ink across the thin yellowed pages of his journal as he signed off the events in a personal report, unaware of the footsteps that approached his tent. The weary weight of sabatons was absent, the clank of steel and the rustle of chainmail was not apparent as Jonathan had noted in the days earlier, but the heady scent of scorched earth and smoke mingled with blood and blade oil as General McCullum stepped into his tent.

Jonathan noted the shadow from his lantern, though turned low still stretched like a familiar phantom came to whisk him away into the faded and uncomfortable field cot he had been calling home in these recent weeks. The ache for his small Inn room and the clean furs of his own private quarters saturated in the herbal aroma of incense and dried plants that designated his little corner of home away from home.

He tilted his head, taking in the dressed down appearance of the General, resembling more of the roguish farm boy turned soldier that he had met so many years ago. It was a big step for them both in their meek lives, as Jonathan joined the scholars to chase his pursuits in medicine and the philosophy of healing under Myrddin’s Oaths. Meanwhile, Geoffrey took up the mantle of his mentor Carl Eldritch, recruited into the King’s army and groomed to succeed him in the Guard of Priwen. They both rose through the ranks of their fields, only to fall back into the path of each other with a battle brimming at their heels and the far-flung romance of skirting nobility in shady alcoves where the mead mingled on their lips and their tongues clashed with more than just court gossip and secret trysts.

“Geoffrey.” Jonathan greeted with a sincere bob of his head, setting his quill back into the inkwell as he regarded the man. The physician twisted in his seat to face the General with a smile so rare these days, dancing on his lips like a tantalizing promise. Geoffrey’s stoicism was shattered by the light that sparked in his eyes as he stole that challenge. One strong hand rested on the back of Jonathan’s seat as he leaned over his shoulder to steal a taste of his lips. Battle hardened fingertips trailed the manicured cut of Jonathan’s jaw as the soldier drew his chin up ever so slightly. He parted his lips with a sigh, inhaling the underlying stench of a battle beyond the canvas flaps of his tent. Whiskey with a splash of honeyed meat hinted at the brief meal the General partook of in his return from the field. Jonathan’s own wasn’t as exemplary as he often forgot to join the men around the campfire and catch a plate from O’Connor’s resourceful efforts.

Never in his life had Jonathan met a man who could field dress a hog as fast as he could, and cook it with enough flavor to convince the physician that he wasn’t eating this in a pitiful tent on a battlefield in the middle of Gods know where. 

“Heard ya treated a couple of my lads.” Geoffrey murmured, drawing away to inspect the private documents Jonathan had been working on detailing the patients he sought to that day and the death toll they faced. It was a growing tally as he fought the reaper and often lost against the fragile odds.

“I did. They’re recovering in the infirmary.” Jonathan assured.

“Aye, stopped in to check on them. Thank you.” Geoffrey hummed, his fingers rising to trace the spread of Jonathan’s shoulders where the white linen night shirt rode up on his back. The physician sighed tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he scrubbed the weariness away from the corners of his vision. The golden light of the lantern blurred, distorting the blackened lines of his records until they were too illegible to make sense of.

“You should get some sleep, Jon.” Geoffrey patted his back gently. Jonathan nodded in agreement.

“In my case, knowing and doing are not of the same equation.” He quipped back.

“Anything I could do to take yer mind off it?” Now there was a tempting thought, and how tempting it was with that sultry look in the General’s eyes and the wandering fingers that stroked the nape of his neck in sweet promises to unravel him on the nearest surface. The reality of their relationship was a secret one, as they withheld it from the chirping maws of the King’s court and their ill gotten inclinations to seize information and barter lies amongst each other as if blackmail were a secondary currency.

"You ensnare me with such sweet promises." Jonathan sighed, a mournful wistfulness weighed heavy in his words. "I shouldn't."

"Why not? What's stopping ya tonight?" Geoffrey taunted softly, a gentle mocking tone fostered from years of intermingling moments like these. Jonathan felt much more at ease with the familiar banter and sharpened wits dancing around his thoughts. Geoffrey was an elite strategist who played his cards carefully and found swift victory a close companion be it on the battlefield or in his own game in life. Jonathan was a repetitive opponent and their stalwart strides were nearly matched in the end as they pushed and pulled before one or the other fell to attrition.

A friendly past time that took the bitterness of the days out of Jonathan's thoughts even now. Something the good healer found peace and comfort in. A reliable source he could fall back into no matter how badly he knew they shouldn't. It never ceased their shadowy play of tangled limbs and twisted hearts wound tightly around one another like the strings of a marionette plucked sweetly into an elegant show. How he ached for those strings to be drawn even now, to collide with warm lips and desperately clutched onto one another. The yearning must have been written clear on his face as Geoffrey obliged his silent desires with a taunting taste as his rougher touch brushed against Jonathan's.

How he melted in that moment like the clay of an errant golem molded by the attentive hands of its creator. His heart sang a forbidden tune as he parted his lips to invite the daring General closer.

Geoffrey's rough fingers cradled his jaw, drawing the physician out of his seat and towards the too small cot. With a gentle push, they parted from their passionate kiss as Jonathan fell back to sit on the cot. Geoffrey closed the shutters of the lantern to drown the tent in almost darkness as he knelt beside Jonathan. The physician leaned back, parting his legs to give the General room. The cot creaked in protest against the added weight but this wasn't the first time it has harbored both of them in sacred shadows as they made love away from prying eyes and secluded darkness.

Jonathan's arms wrapped around Geoffrey's neck, pulling him back into a fiery kiss as fingers carded through his hair. They snagged the longer shaggier strands that he had carefully swept back into a haphazardly done half ponytail. He was long overdue for a haircut, whereas Geoffrey's own remained close shaven along the sides of his head and cut short by only inches on the top. For ease of wearing his helm in the thick of battle. The physician couldn't refrain from trailing his fingers over the smooth skin, the tiny hairs poking back where they started to grow back in or were missed near the edges of his hairline.

He recalled their wilder youths, when the General was a bright eyed recruit under Eldritch's command. He had a mess of long hair always braided in the back. It didn't stop the bangs from falling into his face as he swung a heavy sword at a practice dummy with as much determination as any well practiced warrior, albeit a little bit more clumsy and with far more pent up aggression curled into his heart. He was so much more carefree and passive these days. His anger lay beneath the surface, sharpened to a stake and poised at his goals, fueling them with so much passion and drive that it made Jonathan swell with pride. To have such a wonderful opportunity to see the bright eyed boy he loves turn into the man that now trailed lips along his neck with filthy promises.

"Yer mind is elsewhere." The growl against his throat made him shiver as he peered up. "Hmm, maybe I need to try harder."

Jonathan chuckled, feeling the stubble of Geoffrey's beard scratching along the curve of his throat as he suckled a bruise by the base, just below the neckline of his robes. They were careful to conceal their activities under the guise of old friends seeking counsel with one another. Sharing thoughts on the battlefield with close confidants wasn't unheard of or questioned. Of course they did much more than just that.

"Just thinking about the day we met." Jonathan hummed.

Geoffrey scoffed in amusement at that. "You had yer nose shoved so far in a book, I thought you forgot what the world looked like without letters all over it."

"Yes, I recall. _Cerunnos' Herbal Repertoire_ was a fascinating read about the harvesting and growing of medicinal flora." Jonathan purred. "But not quite as fascinating as you it would appear." 

Geoffrey chuckled. "If I couldn't get you out of that book, I was tempted to find a well and toss a bucket on ye. Fer yer own sake of mind."

"Throwing an apple at me did the trick." Jonathan snorted. It had been an accident, Geoffrey had tossed it though with a little too much force as it managed to hit him in the side of the face instead of landing 'gently' on the book like the recruit had intended. It started an interesting squabble as Jonathan recoiled to see who his assailant was exactly and why fruit was falling from the sky.

"It was better than a bucket of water." Geoffrey interjected.

"Tell that to the bruise I suffered from for a week. My mother thought I had been in a row." Jonathan retorted but the heat it had held all those years ago was replaced by wistful fondness that inflated his chest with a bubbly warmth.

Geoffrey indulged him by pressing a kiss to his jaw then again over his cheek bone where a small scar curved under his eye. It was in line with the similarly older scar that left his nose slightly crooked from a break. That had been from a very real fight Jonathan narrowly survived, one Geoffrey had the misfortune of witnessing from across a courtyard with a cluster of soldiers standing between him and the man he loved. Jonathan held his own against another soldier with a bigger mouth than brains. Unbeknownst to the group who started the scrap, Jonathan sparred often with Geoffrey, indulging him with little competitions as they fumbled in the field over one another. The winner obtained some form of delightful reward and the loser still won in the end as well.

Jonathan had won and Geoffrey got to be the one putting him back together in the end. An amusing turn of events if either did say so.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" Jonathan murmured, tilting his head to catch the next kiss with his lips as Geoffrey traced fingers along his beard.

"I recall a time or two. It never hurts to hear it again." Geoffrey purred, drawing him into a sensual kiss. His free hand lingered along Jonathan's side, roaming over his ribs down to his hips. His thumb massaged through the infuriating layers of robes that kept them apart. The white fabric was a symbol of professionalism and the passive oath Jonathan swore himself to. An oath that prevented him from settling down with a partner of any kind. A devoted student to his service and studies, Geoffrey shared the same sad equivalent with a sword in hand and his duty to the crown. They may never find peace beyond what little moments they can steal before this cruel war takes one of them away.

"I love you more than the stars love the moon, more than the rooster loves the dawn and more than fish love the sea." Jonathan breathed. "You'll forever and always be the only man for me."

"Poetic." Geoffrey snorted but met the admission with another kiss. "I don't know many fancy words but know my love is just as deep, Jon. I'd die for you."

"No." Jonathan corrected. "Live for me. If you love me, live for me. I don't want to lose you, Geoffrey."

There was a startling heat that rushed to their faces as Geoffrey nodded. "I can do that. Aye." Their lips brushed together in a tempting dance before giving in. Their flustered state was shared when a voice cleared itself outside of Jonathan's tent.

"Pardon the intrusion sirs," The voice was O'Connor, Geoffrey's trusted second and possibly the only man who was aware of the true nature of their trysts. "General McCullum, you're needed sir."

Geoffrey's head fell against Jonathan's with a weary frustration. "I swear I'll end this fecking war so we can finally get a moment of damn peace around here."

Jonathan laughed dryly at that. "I eagerly await that day, Geoffrey. Stay safe." He pressed another kiss to the General before he could draw away. Geoffrey returned it with one last final passionate kiss, driving them into the cot once more before rolling out of the cot to adjust his clothing and fix himself up. Jonathan looked the more disheveled out of the two in all honesty but that was neither here or there as he watched Geoffrey slip out of his tent to follow after his second.


	2. Chapter 2

"Really Geoffrey?" Jonathan was beyond shocked by this turn of events. A rude awakening the next morning indeed, as panic seized his chest with the cries for a healer. _McCullum is hurt!_ One of his overactive subordinates shouted on the way into the medical tents. Jonathan's heart raced, his blood thundering in his veins as their sweet parting earlier that night came rushing to the forefront of his thoughts accompanied by every possible misstep that could lead to the loss of his beloved. 

Instead he was greeted with the almost humorous display of the irritated General, lying face down on a cot with a foul look and a slew of curses pouring from his lips. O'Connor ushered the men out, allowing Jonathan a chance to aid his injured lover and Geoffrey a moment of privacy for his misfortune. An arrow was sticking out of the back of his trousers, buried in the meatier flesh where the globe of his cheek met his thigh.

"Hurts like hell, Reid." Geoffrey grimaced as Jonathan poured a dose of poppy milk for him to drink and ease the pain. Geoffrey took it with a scowl, grimacing at the concoction with distrusting eyes before downing it in a quick gulp. He frowned at the bitter taste and curled his fingers into fists as Jonathan started the tedious task of cutting away the fabric around the area so he could see where the barbed tip lodged into the skin. The arrow itself had a signature red fletching that designated it belonged to one of Priwen's own archers. A humorous but not unusual turn of events as friendly fire was a very real problem on the battlefield.

Jonathan couldn't even count how many injuries he's tended to that had been inflicted by their own side. It was an issue they couldn't necessarily avoid during the wiles of combat, with the panic that besieged the average man. Too much activity, an overstimulation driven into tunnel vision. Their aim was sometimes wild, trying to pick out friend from foe, with continuously moving bodies and split second opportunities.

"Get this fecking thing out of me." Geoffrey hissed as Jonathan carefully examined the wound. He planned his next steps carefully as he directed Geoffrey into a kneeling position on all fours. At this angle, it was easier to deal with as he prepared to remove the broad head. The biggest danger here was further tearing and the aftermath of infection. Oftentimes enemy arrows would be coated in unsavory concoctions to cause various horrific infections for the wounded. Thankfully, the Guard of Priwen did not partake in such distasteful practices, but the concern still remained.

"Relax Geoffrey." Jonathan assured him gently. "I'm working as quickly as I can. If I remove it incorrectly, it could permanently damage your leg."

Applying the threat of disability over improperly handled injuries was one way to make the General listen when he got in one of his foul moods. Jonathan understood his displeasure and the dose of poppy should be doing its job quick enough, but if he moved too fast, the scar tissue alone would cause the soldier problems down the line. Jonathan could sympathize with his lover, but he was also well aware that Geoffrey loved his work about as much as Jonathan did, and to risk losing his position over something as silly as an injury such as this would be catastrophic for a man who has known no other life other than war and service.

Geoffrey cursed, slamming his fist against the frame of the cot as he hissed. "Fine just- hurry up aye?"

"I will go as quickly as the injury permits." Jonathan sighed in relief. Removing the broad head required delicate handling and a cautious eye as he slowly eased it away from the tender bleeding flesh. Geoffrey was well versed in pain and held enough self-restraint to remain still despite his discomfort and underlying urges. He indulged himself only in the litany of curses and the occasional fist pounding the cot in a bitten off groan.

This time around, such a simple procedure felt so agonizingly slow as Jonathan worked with extra care to finally remove the arrow and applied a clean dry towel to soak up the blood and clean the area. He sanitized the wound with an alcohol based antiseptic and stitched it closed. A final wrapping of bandages was the end as he glanced over at Geoffrey with a sigh.

The poppy was doing a damn good job, as by the end, the soldier looked spacey and unsteady. Geoffrey's head hung heavily, arms posted with a quiet tremor to them as he sluggishly moved. His hand fumbled, nearly slipping off the side of the cot when Jonathan caught his shoulder and eased him back to lie down on his stomach again. He offered the soldier a pillow to tuck under his chest and support his head, which Geoffrey accepted with a half hearted snort and bunched up under his arms. Jonathan didn't catch the slurred mumbles that left his lover's lips.

A blanket for modesty since the soldier's trousers were thoroughly ruined between the blood and the rather large puncture hole that now became a comically long slice where Jonathan cut it away. It wasn't long before at all before the healer returned to check in on his patient that he found Geoffrey sound asleep. The revelation that he had yet to sleep at all last night weighed heavily on Jonathan's thoughts as he turned out all but a single candle and left him to rest.

The morning was long and busy, bleeding into the mid afternoon. O'Connor stopped in briefly to check on his commanding officer, peeking into the tent, he opted to leave him alone to rest and promised Jonathan he would return later. 

Of course, the Guard of Priwen were not his only visitors, though the next man to find his way into Jonathan's tent was both a surprise and a small cause for concern.

Edgar Swansea was a strange mousy little man with a peculiar notion towards the rest of the world. He had this odd fascination with life and all its _wonders_ that borders on the obscure and perverse. It was, in some ways, a cause for great concern though what little he knew of Swansea were from the barb addled fury that spewed from Geoffrey's lips when the King's directive was to dismiss the Guard in lieu of humoring the Brotherhood and its unorthodox ways. 

What little else Jonathan knew involved the sparse few books he's found detailing the Brotherhood and their purpose in service to the crown. From what he's gathered, they were scholars first and foremost but worked behind closed doors as covert intelligence gatherers. Often mistaken for bookworms peddling fanciful facts, they were, at the core of their existence, spies.

"My apologies sir, but if you're looking for General McCullum, I'm afraid he's indisposed for the moment." Jonathan started, pushing himself up to stand by his desk as Swansea waved a hand dismissively.

"I am fully aware of the misfortune that has befallen our dear acquaintance." Swansea began, his dark brown eyes looked far too large behind the wire rimmed and slightly crooked spectacles balanced on the bridge of his nose. One side was bent and warped, as if they had been struck before. The bright smile spread carelessly across his face with childlike excitement as his gaze fell upon Jonathan's medallion of the Horned One. The silver antlers hung from a chain, spreading above the skull of an elk. The eyes bore small amethysts carefully placed in each socket, peering through a purplish veil at the world before it. It was roughly the size of his palm and only obtained by years of study, hardwork and service under Myrddin's philosophies. It was the mark of a true and honorable physician.

"You're just the man I'm looking for." Swansea preened with delight. "Jonathan Reid, was it? I've heard so much about you. Your work with the plague in Fairence was astonishing. Not only did you cure the local populace, but your negotiations with the Lord to improve the sanitation of the land was remarkable."

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily call it remarkable, sir but thank you. I'm only doing my duties." A flush of warmth rushed to his cheeks as he smiled sheepishly at the unexpected praise.

"So modest!" Swansea chimed. "I have a need for a man of your expertise."

"Beg your pardon, sir?" He wasn't aware that the Brotherhood dabbled in such trifles such as these, having presumed they were purely present for political problems.

"You are a man more than skilled for the task. Your sterling reputation precedes you good sir. With your resume, you just might be the man to help end this bloody and unfortunate war." Swansea sighed. "The King and this country need your aid."

"I believe I'm doing my part already in this war sir. I'm afraid I don't understand what you're trying to get at." Jonathan frowned with increasing confusion as Swansea adjusted his spectacles and smiled ruefully.

"The Brotherhood requests your assistance with a matter of the utmost priority. We need a man of peace to approach Lord Redgrave and negotiate a truce. Replicate your dealings in Fairence, sir. Cease this miserable war and less men will end up on your surgical table."

The stinging reality of such words was far too tempting for Jonathan to rationalize refusing. If he could help in this war, far more than he was already doing, it would soothe that painful gut wrenching ache deep inside his chest. He wouldn't have to fear the thought that the next time Geoffrey comes into his infirmary, he may never leave it alive again.

"And what exactly are the terms of this negotiation?" Jonathan inquired, far more aware of just how dangerous all of this truly is on top of it all. His work in Fairence didn't come with the threat of execution should he fail though being a scholar of Myrddin offered him a piece of absolute neutrality that no other position in the Kingdom allowed. To kill one, was an act of war. A war, that they were already so far lost in. What was to stop Lord Redgrave from further atrocities against the crown?

"The Brotherhood has prepared everything you will need. Just deliver the parcel to Lord Redgrave. Please Jonathan, this could save thousands of lives." Swansea pleaded to him. 

The healer sighed, a heavy sound of surrender as he bowed his head. "Alright. I'll inform my staff and leave post haste."

"Thank you sir." Swansea smiled broadly, reaching up to oat his shoulder with a fond delight in his eyes. "Your endeavors will be aptly rewarded by His Majesty."

"I'm not doing it for the glory, sir. I have a personal stake in all this as well." Jonathan corrected as he gazed sternly upon the smaller man. The sharp look didn't appear to deter any other friendly advances from the Brotherhood member as he chattered on despite Jonathan's mild discomfort and desire to be left alone to think.

The healer turned his attention back to the entrance of his tent as a shadow overwhelmed the parted flap. Swansea was unaware of the approaching archer as he growled in a rough and bestial manner. "This one bothering you, doktore?"

Swansea yelped and whirled around to face the taller foreign man with a wolfish and deadly smile spread across his face. His long black hair was tied up into a wolf's tail bun and his bow remained on his back, just peeking over the shoulder. 

"Ah, Vukasin, how can I help you?" Jonathan was relieved for the familiar distraction as one of Geoffrey's Captains surfaced. Vukasin led Priwen's archers in ranged assaults on the enemy.

"Visiting McCullum and looking for arrow. You have it, da?"

"I do. It's on my desk actually." Jonathan turned away to retrieve the aforementioned item and passed it over to Vukasin who smirked in amusement. His thumb rolled over the lone red fletching and the type of wood that made the sleek body of the arrow.

"Appreciate it Doktore. McCullum is vell?"

"He'll make a speedy recovering I assure you. Knowing his stubbornness, he'll be back on the frontlines with the rest of you despite my forewarning." Jonathan sighed wistfully. 

Vukasin nodded with a pleased smile before side eyeing Swansea with another toothy grin. "Vant me to kill him?" The Brotherhood member squeaked and started to fumble with his words of protest while slowly backing towards the entrance.

Jonathan was well aware of the needle sharp taunting of the men in Priwen and their macabre teasing and jesting words. This, he assumed, was one of them. Vukasin was always harder to read compared to the others but he felt confident enough in understanding the man that he could navigate future oddities that left his mouth.

"I don't believe that we will be necessary." Jonathan assured. "Now, if you'll both excuse me, I have work to do."

"Da." Vukasin nodded and headed for the flap, his stony stare forcing Swansea out first as the man quickly backed out of the way until he fell on his butt outside of the tent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan sets out for Fort Ascalon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is really short. I took a small break and worked on other fics, then when I returned to this I sort of forgot what I had planned for this chapter. So here it is. I hope you enjoy. The next chapter will be in Geoffrey's perspective.

The walk up to Fort Ascalon was a long and winding trek through twisting terrain charred and battered by the hailstorm of catapults and trebuchets, the hail of flaming arrows lit the paths in burning heaps of debris mingling with the already burnt out husks of past assaults. Bodies lingered from both sides, feasted upon by scavengers sneaking an opportune meal. The sickening sensation clenched up his stomach at the thought of leaving these men behind. In the knowledge that when this battle was finished, they would be piled into a mass grave and forgotten, left in a place far from their homes where their loved ones will never see them again, never be able to visit and pay respects.

He forced his feet to keep moving, bearing the white flag of peace raised high in the air so as not to be struck down by errant claws and sharp fangs. He followed the map that Swansea had passed off to him and carried the parcel the Brotherhood wrote up in the King’s name for a peaceful end to all of this hell.

The front gates of the fortress was lined with massive wooden spikes poised to stop any lucky battalions eager to attempt a charge on the doors. Two large Vulkods stood at the entrance, accompanied by a man in black robes, his face obscured but the air of danger was palpable in the air. Like the crackling of static before a bad storm, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Halt and state your business." The man called as Jonathan slowed his approach a safe distance away. He knew better than to think he could outrun any of these creatures. He's seen their swift actions and the damage their claws can do to a human being. How easily they rip through chainmail and carve bloody caverns through platemail.

“My name is Jonathan Reid and I am here on official business.” Jonathan began, his fingers found their way to his medallion as he continued. “The Brotherhood of Saint Paul’s Stole extends a message for Lord Redgrave.”

The man made no move at first as silence pulled taut between them. The Vulkods stared Jonathan down, driving a nagging sense of anxiety into his stomach and pulling at the tiny shreds of nausea. This was far more terrifying than his actions during the plague of Fairence, at least the only thing he had to fear was imprisonment had it failed. Here, he faced the eminent threat of death.

When the man finally moved, he raised a hand and beckoned Jonathan to follow. The Vulkods remained vigilant as he slowly approached, shifting feet in the stones that scattered about the ground. Two massive gates opened, a heavy groan of movement as they passed into the courtyard of the fortress. It was far more opulent than Jonathan would have expected for a place in the middle of the mountains. The high stone walls hid well the garden that grew within, greenery flourished, climbing up wooden pavilions where marble benches seated men in similar robes sipping wine and reading as if a war did not threaten the very sanctuary they had built for themselves.

Jonathan was mortified in his realization as one of the ‘servants’ passed by him with unsteady shambling motions. Concern turned into disgust and horror which was carefully schooled into an expression of neutrality, as he noticed the human servants were far from that. Their eyes were covered by a blood encrusted bandage that wrapped around the circumference of their skull, the fabric soiled and stained by filth with hair thinning and pulled back into a messy semblance. Their skin was grey with yellow blisters haphazardly patched up with improperly placed bandages.

_‘Was this necromancy?’_ Jonathan had only heard whispers of it among the scholars of Myrddin, a taboo practice previously assumed to be myth, much like the Vulkods that skulked about in every corner of the fortress. As Jonathan proceeded to follow the robed man, they were led past a large fountain portraying a serpent-like creature coiled around a marble pillar, sharp fangs bared as water poured from its parted maw.

There were several small buildings within all planted at the base of a massive keep, all of which were lively with activity as monsters and men milled in and out. A particularly large wolf like beast pulled a cart behind itself with leather straps fixed over its torso. Inside the cart were linen wrapped figures that looked vaguely human. At just a glance, he swore he saw bloody markings scrawled into the fabric and at least one of them were moving. Maybe it was a trick of the mind or due to the cart moving erratically over the bumpy earth, but he swore he saw determined movement. He tore his eyes away as they approached the front steps of the keep where more robed figures stood at the entrance. Among them was a man who’s hood remained down, revealing an aged and withered looking individual, head stooped and back crooked as he leaned heavily on a staff for support.

“What is the meaning of this?” The man demanded sharply, his voice bitter as he stared the man down with narrowed eyes through his spectacles.

“He comes with a message for Lord Redgrave.” The man in front of Jonathan informed the elder who only scowled more.

“And you let him in?” The elderman spat, raising a crooked finger in his direction. “You ignorant fool!”

“Calm yourself, Aloysius.” Another voice called as the door parted at their backs. A taller man in crimson robes approached, one hand raised as he strolled onto the landing of the stonework steps, peering down at Jonathan with inquiring steely eyes, a look akin to that which a vulture gives easy prey. “This man is a scholar of Myrddin. I’ve been expecting you.”

“Pardon my confusion, but you have?” Jonathan frowned briefly. The man nodded, drawing back the hood of his robes as he shared a prickly smile.

“Indeed sir. For a scholar of Myrddin, you’ve made quite the name for yourself, Jonathan Reid.” The man waved dismissively to Aloysius who slowly backed away. “As you’ve probably already noticed, I am Lord Redgrave and I’ve been keeping a close eye on you, Jonathan. My spies have kept me well informed for a long time.”

A shiver raced down his spine at that. Spies? Was there really spies that have infiltrated the camp? There was a sudden sharp jolt of concern that lanced through his heart at the though that Geoffrey could be in danger. As much as he wished to turn around and leave, Jonathan kept himself planted firmly in place, silencing his fears that whispered paranoid thoughts into his mind and focused on the task at hand. Surely, Lord Redgrave was simply trying to get under his skin.

“I’ve a message for you from the Brotherhood of Saint Paul’s Stole.” Jonathan held the parcel up, passing it over to the robed man before him. The man carried it up the steps to Lord Redgrave, leaving Jonathan to stand awkwardly at the base. He ignored the sound of movement behind him as beasts went about their tasks, and the distant sound of hammers was accompanied by a faint scream that made his stomach clench into a knot. Lord Redgrave opened the parcel with gustea, taking his sweet time as he unfolded the sealed letter within and read each line carefully. The physician was unnerved by the way the Lord’s gaze turned back on Jonathan, seemingly directed on the medallion at his breast. His hand subconsciously reached for the item protectively. This was his identity and his life’s work, the symbol that gave him meaning and purpose. Without it, he was nothing.

Satisfied, Lord Redgrave tucked the letter into a pocket inside his robes as he sighed in contentment. “A truce then?” Redgrave laughed, a stifled sound kept low in his chest, haughty and breathless as he smiled, flashing his teeth at Jonathan in a manner that was far from friendly.

“You would sacrifice it all, for King and country?” The Lord mused, descending the steps as he folded his hands behind his back. Each was measured in stride. Jonathan had half a mind to step away but held firm as he nodded.

“I serve my countrymen within the bounds of my oath.” Jonathan answered. “If I may, what were the terms of the truce?”

“Your King offered me a trade for my cooperation it would seem. Your life had been the offer.” Lord Redgrave examined Jonathan closely as he stalked around him slowly. A critical eye trailing up and down the physician’s appearance before he laughed again.

“My life?” Jonathan frowned. “That makes no sense.”

“Indeed, what is so special about you that they will place the safety of a country upon your shoulders.” Lord Redgrave stopped in front of Jonathan and reached for the medallion with a curious glint in his eyes. Jonathan covered the medallion, stopping the man in his advances. Lord Redgrave didn’t appear to take the gesture kindly as he withdrew with a sneer of disgust.

“You are all nothing more than worms beneath Ascalon’s feet. The sooner you accept that fact, the better.” Jonathan stepped away at that as Lord Redgrave paused and cracked a vicious grin in his direction. “In fact, allow me to help you better understand. Fergal!”

Jonathan whirled around in time to hear the heavy footsteps of possibly the largest Vulkod he has ever seen. A massive beast that loomed over all others with a murderous fury in its eyes. Jonathan didn’t have a chance as the creature smacked into him, knocking the physician to the ground. All the air had been knocked from his lungs, leaving Jonathan gasping to regain it, only succeeding in inhaling dirt in the process. He coughed and sputtered, struggling in futility to find leverage against the massive claws at his back.

“Please, you don’t want to do this.” Any thoughts he may have had, carefully formulated and rife with reason and logic, had been shaken out of him as he scrambled to beg for his life.

“Ascalon does as it pleases.” Lord Redgrave stated bluntly. “No one shall ever defy us, particularly a lowly worm like you.” It took all the energy he could muster to lift his head in time to see the robed figures circle him. Lord Redgrave stood at the front, a cool smile spread on his lips as the men began to chant. A black shadow rose from the very earth beneath him and bound Jonathan’s limbs together, making all attempts for freedom useless. The Vulkod withdrew and exited the circle, as the unholy aura raised the physician from the ground until he was hovering in the center, a painful burning encircled his wrists and legs, a tight pain that clenched down around his throat like a hot chain had been locked around his flesh where the black vapor touched. He gritted his teeth, swallowing the scream as white hot pain burned into his very bones.

His heart thundered in his ears like a distant storm rolling ever closer, the muffled chanting was washed out as pain blurred his vision. He heard a crack and a scream deafened the air. In his delirium he recognized the scream as his own and the crack from bone as his own limbs broke under the pressure. He hung in the air, a ragdoll shattered into pieces meant to be remolded under the tutelage of the spell cast over him. A shroud befell his vision, a blinding white light that purged the world around him from view.

He could hear the screams of the men and Lord Redgrave’s own anger as he shouted. “I said a worm you fools! Not a wyrm! Kill him quickly!”

Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut and felt the bindings fall away from his limbs. Frightened and desperate, he lashed out at the blobs of color that approached. Bright pops of light blinded him as he scrambled to his feet. Every step was heavy and sluggish, the throbbing pain proceeded to hinder his advances. A stabbing pain pierced his side, causing him to fall into the dirt once more, an agonized scream rose from his chest but all he heard was a roar as if the earth had cracked open and consumed all around him. Flames filled his vision, the heat licking at his face and hands but greeting him only with a comfortable warmth.

Panic seized him as confusion muddled his mind. He heard the screams of men all around him before silence consumed the air. Flames raged in a hellish inferno all around, the greenery turned to ash, the earth blackened into a husk as bodies littered the ground, charred and crippled by the searing heat.

  
 _‘I need to get out of here. This is a nightmare.’_ He thought frantically, forcing himself one agonizing step at a time through the courtyard, beasts and bodies lay all about. More screams and yelling approached as gates opened and robed figures flooded the courtyard. Jonathan raised his hands to defend himself from the bite of their magic and sent a gust of air spiralling into them. The flames grew in strength as each sway of his hands fed the fire. He swiveled his head and noticed large scaly wings spread out at his side. Looking down, he was met with the extended view of blackened claws and scales like liquified onyx poured over glass. The flames reflected back in the texture as he moved forward and the body moved with him. A beast of such terrifying magnificence from tales as old as mankind. In his frantic state, Jonathan began to piece together the failed spell and Lord Redgrave’s words. What had they done to him?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go give this amazing artist love! Tyrantwache strikes again with gorgeous art of Geoffrey and Jonathan in Live For Me.
> 
> https://tyrantwache.tumblr.com/post/633076932311957504/vampyr-fantasy-au-based-on-the-fic-live-for-me-by

“Reid?” Geoffrey called, drawn from a nightmare he could only assume was a byproduct of the poppy he had ingested. He cradled his head as the faint fuzzy traces from the drug remained, blinking the bleariness from his vision as the lingering tendrils of his nightmare haunted his thoughts. He had dreamt of Jonathan walking a corpse littered path alone towards a Keep full of beasts. He recalled the sense of impending danger that plagued him as he called out in a feeble attempt to draw the physician away. An army of beasts separated them, even as Geoffrey cut a bloody path to reach him, only to be halted by a wall of flames. His last glimpse of Jonathan was an apologetic smile before he was swallowed up by the fire.

Never in all his life had Geoffrey suffered from such a surreal dream before and now he was on edge. Ignoring the dull ache that throbbed in his thigh, the General forced himself to his feet and shuffled out of the tent.

“Reid?” Geoffrey called once more just as Nurse Crane approached with a stern look of disapproval.

“Sir, you should not be up on your feet yet. I’m going to ask you to return to your tent.” She started, halted only by the hand of pause that Geoffrey held up and the grimace on his face as he withheld the scowl of discontent.

“Where’s Reid?”

“He’s on important business and will return shortly.” Crane assured, stepping closer to Geoffrey who shuffled to the side and avoided her outreached hand attempting to corral him back to the tent.

“Where?” Geoffrey demanded.

“Sir-”

A pair of steps came around the cluster of tents and paused to look at the goings on between Geoffrey and Crane. Peering up, he recognized his two Captains, Babic and Bonner, who stared at them with raised brows of question. 

“Sir, you have orders?” Babic asked, a low growl around his words as the archer awaited a command. Ever eager to oblige and obey his call, Geoffrey appreciated the loyalty of his men and their efforts.

“I need to find Jonathan Reid.” Geoffrey snapped. “It's a priority.” Maybe that was a stretch, maybe it was just paranoia but Geoffrey didn’t often bow to the whims of superstition unless he had a strong feeling about it. And never in his life has his feeling been stronger than now. It curled along his spine and nestled in his chest like a ball of spikes spreading out into every corner, a dreaded trap determined to impale his fragile heart.

“He left a few hours ago. I saw him leave when I went to check in on Jonesy.” Bonner hiked his thumb over his shoulder as he shrugged and glanced at Babic. “Vuka?”

“Brotherhood of Saint Paul’s Stole vas talking to him, short man vith glasses, brown hair, very mousy.” Babic gestured with a hand at the estimated height of the Stole Brother. He didn’t need much to recognize the description right away.

“Swansea the bastard. What did they talk about?”

“Doktore vas sent on diplomatic mission to negotiate vith Redgrave. He left an hour ago and headed for Fort Ascalon alone and vith package in arm.” Babic continued.

“Shite.” Geoffrey cursed. “We need to-” Whatever else Geoffrey had intended to say was silenced by the blood curdling roar of a fearsome beast unlike anything he had ever heard in all his life. The entire camp went silent as they looked towards the fort that loomed ominously over them. Flames licked up the walls and spilled over, rolling into the air in large smoking plumes as stone and debris was flung about. One wall caved under the weight as if struck by the barrage of a catapult, stone crumbled and a hulking black shadow emerged with wings outstretched, soaring into the sky as clouds rumbled closer with an impending storm and night grew ever near. 

“Get to the Fort!” Geoffrey shouted to his men as he rushed up the winding path that had once been rife with foes. The screams of enemies and the guttural howls of beasts had fallen to silence as hundreds of troops rushed frantically in a ragtag charge towards the fortress gates. They were scorched and ajar, the corpses of fleeing beasts crouched behind the doors, a fate too kind in Geoffrey’s mind as they failed to escape the flames. Unrecognizable and twisted in momentary agony, limbs cracked as bones splintered in the heat. The earth was charred beyond recovery, marble stained an ugly permanent black as sulfur filled the air. Ashes fell around them like snow as plantlife withered and flames raged on the rooftops of small buildings. Corpses heaped the remnants of carts, smoke smudged and half burnt, a crippled beast writhed in its last moments before fading away.

Geoffrey searched every body he passed, eyes scanning the shadows and corners with fear in his heart and each painful heavy step pushing him beyond his limit. It was growing harder to breathe the further into the fort he walked with the best of his men slowly picking through at his back. As he crept towards the steps leading up to the keep, at the landing was an untouched perfectly formed circle of earth, the grass still grew, green and lush with small purple flowers popping up around the edges. In the very center was the outline of where a body had been thrown into the ground, scraps of white cloth had been torn and left behind, a familiar material Geoffrey recognized. A few steps away he found a body curled into the fetal position and beside it lay a medallion from a Scholar of Myrddin.

The silver chain was broken and one of the antlers was damaged from the heat warping the edges, the back was slightly scarred by burning but the engraving on the back was one in the same. This was Jonathan’s medallion.

Geoffrey cradled the item in his palm as hot tears welled to his eyes. He tipped his head back and searched the sky for the bloody beast that had taken the love of his life away. Had the beast not already done so, Geoffrey would have hunted down every last member of Ascalon and made them pay. This death was not enough for their crimes and he will never be satisfied in knowing a man who did so much for mankind had been dealt the same fate as _monsters_ in human skin.

He dropped to his knees, clutching the medallion against his chest as his shoulders shook with stifled sobs. The smoke curled from the earth and rolled with a heat still so intense it made every breath a labor. Strong hands pulled at his shoulders, fingers ensnared the fabric of his linen shirt before they looped under his arms and physically hauled him to his feet. Geoffrey didn't even bother with looking, as the gruff voice of his second met his ear as the bear sized man manhandled him up and away from the dangers within the fort. 

"We need to move sir. It's not safe until the fires are put out." O'Connor coaxed him up as Geoffrey swayed on his feet, unsteady and light headed by the smoke and fumes left behind, and the remnants of the drug in his system. The hand fisted the back of his shirt and held him firm as he was guided to the gates. Bonner and Babic orchestrated clusters of troops to begin putting the flames out and meticulously comb the fort for clues and survivors.

He had half a mind to spit curses and command his men to just leave him there, but the small inkling of rationality still clinging to his thoughts spoke with a voice reminiscent of Jonathan's as it persuaded him to keep moving. 

_Promise me you'll live for me, Geoffrey._

"I promise, Reid." Geoffrey bit out, scrubbing his face clear of his tears as he started walking on his own. O'Connor's hand remained on his back, resting gently between his shoulders now like a comforting paw of pressure that helped keep him grounded as they navigated the tricky terrain leading back to camp.

His second made no comment on his mutterings and like the true friend he was, he opted to pretend they hadn't been uttered. Instead he asked Geoffrey what orders he wished to pass on to his men as tasks were delegated in his impending absence. Normally Geoffrey would protest and argue, refusing to stand idle on the sidelines as his men worked but the General was no fool. He recognized the pain in his chest and the one reopened in his leg as blood trickled down his thigh and left the bandages tacky against his skin. He was in no state to lead, they knew that just as well as he did. His men were loyal to a fault, even when that loyalty made them defy orders to force him into listening. Nothing like the jest of treason to make their commanding officer take a damn break for once.

"You'n the lads got it covered. Ya know the drill." Geoffrey grunted, tucking Jonathan's medallion inside his breast pocket as he glanced around, catching the nervous glances of the men and women in the camp. The anxious whispers as eyes darted to the skies with fear alight in the whites. They ushered quickly from tent to tent as if the beast would swoop down upon them and snatch them up. He would share their thoughts as well but at the moment he lacked the common sense to be wary, as the anguish that stirred in his chest spread like a sickness over him.

In a brief scan, Geoffrey didn't fail to catch the familiar hunch of shoulders skulking between tents. The brief glint of light reflecting in spectacles drew his eye as Swansea turned down a row of similar tents and headed deeper into the camp. Geoffrey pursued, unhindered by the shocks of pain through his leg or the questioning concerned expression of his second. Swansea's pace picked up too late as Geoffrey quickened his own steps and grabbed the Stole brother by the back of his cloak and threw him forward into the dirt. Swansea's glasses were shaken off his face and landed by his side as Geoffrey stepped around him.

"You bastard! You happy now Swansea?" Geoffrey snarled, grabbing the spy by the back of his cloak and physically hauling him to his feet as he backed the man up against a wall until he was face first into the weather battered wood of a small outer building cobbled hastily together for the horses. Swansea squeaked and squirmed, writhing under Geoffrey's grasp as his fingers tightened around the back of his neck and kept him pinned with a knee wedged into his back.

"Unhand me General McCullum! This barbarism has gone on long enough!" Swansea blurted, finally managing to steady on his tiptoes.

"You sent Reid up there to die!" Geoffrey leaned in and snarled into his ear. 

"Jonathan Reid was well aware of the risks he was taking. His sacrifice, though upsetting, has saved thousands by ending a war." Swansea tried to reason but Geoffrey only felt a fire burning in his blood as he hauled the spy back from the wall just enough for him to stumble then slammed his face into the wood, following it up once more by throwing him to the ground.

"Sacrifice? Sacrifice! What fecking sacrifice?" Geoffrey snarled and stepped towards Swansea who scrambled backwards across the ground. A cluster of people began to gather around, creeping out of their tents to catch a glimpse of the esteemed General McCullum.

"Sir." O'Connor called, reaching for his superior to draw his attention away but Geoffrey shrugged off the hand on his shoulder as he closed distance with Swansea.

"He died needlessly! Its yer fucking fault he's dead you filthy rat bastard and I'm gonna make ya pay fer it! I swear it!" Geoffrey lunged at Swansea just as the spy curled into a pathetic fetal position, his hands raised in defense but Geoffrey hadn't the satisfaction of landing yet another blow. O'Connor's arms looped around the general like vices and held him firmly in place. Geoffrey could only watch as Swansea cowered in fear, lip bloody and split and nose broken where it met the wall. One of the nurses rushed forward to help pick the spy up, collecting his glasses and ushering him away.

Geoffrey scowled and glared daggers at any who met his gaze, each man shying away as the crowd broke apart, disappointed by the promise of conflict. Geoffrey wanted blood, there was no secret in that as anger fueled him and flowed like magma in his veins. His hands wound tightly into fists as O'Connor manhandled him back into his tent and shoved him forward.

"You need to take a deep breath and calm down sir. Mr. Reid wouldn't want this for you." Geoffrey sneered, pacing in a small circle as he searched for a spot to seat himself but settled in restless swaying from side to side, his hands fidgeting idly as O'Connor stood, blocking the only exit from the tent with a stern look directed his way. 

"You need rest."

"The fuck I do." Geoffrey spat.

"Sir-"

"He killed him, O'Connor!" Geoffrey growled, whirling on the larger man as he pointed at the tent flap with rage burning in his eyes and barbs poised on his tongue. "He took him away from me and I swear to the gods, I'm gonna carve his heart from his fucking chest!"

"Don't make promises ya can't keep." O'Connor interjected, hands on his hips as he steadied his stance and relaxed his shoulders. "Yer grieving sir. Just like when ya lost Eldritch. You aren't _you_ right now. It's all that anger inside ya tryna find a way out and yer letting it."

"What do you expect me to do?" Geoffrey relented after a moment, his shoulders sank in anguish as he looked upon his second for the wisdom he often held.

O'Connor closed the distance between them, an easy task to accomplish with his wide strides as he clapped a hand on Geoffrey's shoulder. "Be the man Mr. Reid knew you are capable of being and keep him by yer heart." He offered a reassuring squeeze, feeling the tension unwind in the General as all his fight fizzled out and the tears returned, a bitterness brewed, winding up in a tight ball lodged firmly in his throat.

"Mourn for him sir, and move on for him. It's all you can do now." There was a quiet resignation as Geoffrey released a defeated sigh, shuddering out a breath as he turned away. He clapped a hand over his face to hide the tears he shed. O'Connor slowly retreated from the tent, leaving him with the quietly uttered. "I'll go inform the lads." 


	5. Chapter 5

“Could you bring that bucket of water to me please?” A soft motherly voice met Jonathan’s ears as he roused from a dead sleep. The faint sounds of footsteps could be heard shuffling around nearby, a familiar routine he associated with the staff in the tents as the nurses tended to the patients and spent the early hours of morning hanging bandages up to dry just as the sun peeked over the horizon to greet them in another day.

_ ‘I should join them. There is so much work to be done.’ _ Jonathan thought but the desire to rise from his bed was absent as his limbs weighed down with the lingering weight of sleep. A sluggish raise of his arm drew it closer to scrub at his eyes when the same voice called to him sternly.

“No, hold still.” He felt a gentle tug on his arm pulling it away but it was feeble in comparison to his own movement. Nevertheless he held still, and peered through the bright morning light that fell upon his face to figure out which one of his staff it was that had taken the liberty of entering his private tent.

Jonathan’s groggy thoughts struggled to examine the strange woman before him that was very obviously  _ not  _ a nurse in the camp or anyone he had ever met in all his life. Her face was scarred as if by burns that puckered her cheek and twisted the corner of her mouth and yet an odd untimely beauty remained on the other half. Raven hair fell over her shoulders, shaved close to the scalp on the burned side and braided to lay over her opposite shoulder with small yellow flowers woven into it. She had the air of a woman of high status but still beckoned him with the same humble gentleness of a temple mouse. Her long slender fingers still held a damp cloth wrung between them, stained with patches of dark red where she had been mopping up blood from a wound. A wound that he recognized was inflicted upon his very own wing, that of which she was currently holding to remain still. Slowly, with her careful guidance, he lowered it to lay in the grass.

The initial shock wore off as memories flooded him from the night before. His wings sagged in defeat as he recalled flying away from Fort Ascalon, pain wracked his entire body as flames raged in his wake. A storm was brewing, wicked and cruel, lightning struck the mountain side, driving him to fly lower. His arms (no, wings) ached with the unusual movement as the whole world flew by too quickly for his brain to process properly. He struck a protruding rock that flung him forward into a low hanging arch of stone. He narrowly swooped and corrected his path in time to miss the object. The rain pelted his face relentlessly as Jonathan sought safety somewhere, anywhere he could possibly find. Desperate and exhausted, he crash landed into a haphazard heap and laid there as the rain continued to fall and thunder rumbled ominously above him.

Had he the capacity to cry, he would have. A mournful wail was lost to the raging storm above as Jonathan succumbed to the anguish of his circumstances. Little else was recalled after that, as the night stretched on, the physician assumed he had fallen asleep or lost consciousness shortly after. Peering around himself, he realized he was in what appeared to be a farmer’s field. He spied farmhands working to fix a broken fence that appeared to have been caused by the hazardous flop of his tail which was currently curled close to his belly now. His head swiveled as he followed the sound of numerous voices as a shepherd herded his flock nearby, beckoning them in the opposite direction away from Jonathan. Another young woman helped the first as they cleaned his wing and tended to the smaller scrapes along his scales, wiping mud and dirt from his claws.

He startled when a hand reached up and gently swatted his jaw, causing him to huff in response. Turning pale blue eyes on the first woman, he realized the stern look directed at him and relaxed his wing once more.

“You’ve been through so much already.” She spoke, her words carefully measured, like a balm over his thoughts that lulled him. How so many people could be so at ease in his presence, truly this must have been a dream far stranger than any he had ever had. He lifted his head as a small wagon was drawn up the path towards them, two children sat on the back of it, their legs swaying in the air as they sang songs Jonathan didn’t recognize. There was a man of roughly average height, dressed in earthen trousers and a white tunic, a tan vest set upon his shoulders with a similar yellow flower protruding from his breast pocket. A thick ginger beard grew along his jaw and his long ruddy hair was tied into a loose ponytail as he chimed in with the children, singing the song as he guided the horse along the worn dirt path leading towards them. The horse whinnied in apprehension as they neared Jonathan, though the man stroked a hand along its neck to sooth it. The physician noticed another bucket of water sat between the children while they braided flower crowns for one another. A basket of apples was placed next to it along with what smelled like a fresh deer. The scent of blood filled his nostrils with every breath, stirring a seemingly ravenous hunger within.

Jonathan shied away from the sight and focused his attention on the passing conversations of the people that seemed to come with the intent to assist in the effort. “Do not fear.” The woman spoke softly, her hand cradled Jonathan’s large chin in her dainty hands, fingers still damp from the rag as she consoled him. “We are here to help you.”

“This is Sean, an apostle of the Sad Saint.” She gestured towards the man as he ushered the children to help him unload the cart. One carried the basket of apples while the other clumsily hauled the bucket of water, droplets sloshed and spilled over the edges, splashing their clothes which drew amused giggles from their lips. Sean was a meek looking soul, with softened green eyes that offered empathy when he greeted Jonathan’s gaze. A sadness resided within them, an indescribable  _ knowing  _ that made him feel at ease in their presence.

The physician tilted his head, drawing it from the woman’s grasp as he directed a look of question towards her, or as best as he could muster. He wasn’t sure if his expressions were as meaningful in this state but he could only hope she would catch on. To his grief, it missed its mark as she returned to her task, seemingly taking the gesture as Jonathan not wishing to be touched at the moment. Sean brought the deer closer before lying it next to a wooden trough that had been carried out earlier. The little girl who carried the bucket in her arms added the contents to the rest, further filling it to the brim. He swallowed thickly, examining the trough from a distance as his thirst made itself known, riding the coattails of his hunger.

“You can help yerself.” Sean called to him, waving Jonathan over as the physician contemplated whether or not he was permitted to really move. He turned an eye towards the woman to check on the progress as she smeared a bitter smelling herbal paste over the wound. He held completely still, ignoring the slight sting as fingers gently probed the jagged injury carved into his scales. He didn’t recall how exactly he hurt himself, but the pain was all the same. The balm she applied already soothed the angry heat of the injury, effectively numbing the area of concern.

“Not sure if she introduced herself yet, but this is Old Bridget.” Sean spoke up, stepping closer to Jonathan as he rested his hands on his hips. A warm light sparked in his eyes as he watched the people move about their day. There was pride and fondness as he gazed upon Old Bridget, a swell of both rising in his voice briefly before he schooled it back to quiet contentment. “I don’t know how much you know about witches, but she lends her skills to help the folks round here.” He sighed easily. 

“All finished. You can move now but rest your wing.” Old Bridget chided him lightly as she stepped back, wiping her hands clean on the rag with a look of approval. Jonathan gave his wing another glimpse, finding the care of it exceptional considering the size of his injury. He was a bit more concerned by the fact it appeared they’d been caring for him long before he awoke which caused a brief nugget of anxiety had he had the misfortune of falling into the hands of someone far less inclined to his presence. His fortune appeared to be looking up it would seem.

“You must be starving.” Sean drew his attention back towards the food offered for him. A subtle gesture at the dead deer made Jonathan cringe inwardly.

_ 'Excuse my impoliteness but if you intend for me to eat that, you're clearly mistaken.'  _ He thought, giving a shake of his head at the beast. Sean raised a brow at the odd gesture, confusion rife in his gaze as it darted towards Old Bridget who shared a similarly befuddled look. Jonathan pushed the carcass away from the trough using his snout, an unsightly gesture that felt incredibly awkward for the physician as if he were mocking a chicken for its beak. His limbs felt all wrong as he struggled to adjust to the change. The most notable of all had to be the ever confusing feeling of having a tail of all things. It felt like an unusual weight hanging from his back that sparked the maddening urge to simply  _ shake it off. _

Jonathan turned his attention towards the trough, a plight in which he struggled to use his new mouth to navigate such a simple task as drinking. Slurping was far from appropriate and his long tongue was as versatile as it was complicated but after a few embarrassing mistakes, he managed to figure out how to curl it in a way that scooped a quantity of water into his mouth. He didn't miss the way Old Bridget and Sean stared at him as if he were an oddity in a passing performance. A look that he pointedly ignored, aware that their rudeness was a possible byproduct of shock at his strange and unusual presence. He doubted it was everyday that they were able to examine a dragon up close. 

Though, technically, by the brief look over his own body, he presumed he was technically a wyvern if he recalled his studies correctly. Draconids with two legs and wings that doubled as sort of arms and a long serpentine tail were categorized as wyverns though not much was known about the creatures and their related brethren. The Scholars of Myrddin had a limited amount of resources on the subject, a fact they could thank the Brotherhood for as they combed the archives and confiscated anything they deemed inappropriate for the college to be teaching its pupils. They were physicians after all, why should they know about draconids and other beasts long since extinct? A question poised at the Headmaster like a dagger at his throat, the unspoken words read between the lines of silence as they were forced to watch a purge of their archives. A memory from Jonathan's novice years, that which were so long ago he had nearly forgotten them.

"Ya must 'ave been thirsty." The comment had not been lost on Jonathan's ponderings, an inflection so familiar in his words that his head shot up to look at the man who spoke them. Sean stood warily by his side, a subtle step back in surprise as he raised his hands, placating the physician to calm himself. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook ya."

There was an ache in his heart as he wondered about Geoffrey, the mournful pain dug deep into his chest. Did he know what happened to him? Was he safe in the aftermath?  _ 'Is he looking for me?' _ Jonathan lowered himself towards the basket of apples as he poked at the bright red fruit thoughtfully. A wistful noise rose in his chest like a whine of longing. His appetite waned as he thought of the man he loved and how he would view the beast he had become.

"I know it's hard but ya need to keep yer strength up." Sean coaxed, stepping slowly towards Jonathan once more. He shared a puzzled look with Old Bridget who regarded Jonathan with a question on her lips.

"Would you allow me to take some of your blood so that we can communicate better?" She drew closer, her fingers gently tracing the scales of his wing as she examined the off color edges of the wound smeared in the herbal paste. Sean raised his brows in bewilderment.

"You can do that?"

"I can." She assured. "A small amount of blood will allow me to hear you." She continued. "If you'll let me of course."

Jonathan swiveled his head with a conflicted feeling about this request. After what he went through in Fort Ascalon, he struggled to find a proper reason to trust magic and yet, Old Bridget had been so gentle and kind to him.  _ 'Besides, I need someone to talk to. It could be far more beneficial in the end.'  _ He reasoned.  _ 'They need to know the truth. _ '

After a moment of contemplation, he bobbed his head in confirmation to her request. She smiled at him reassuringly and stroked his wing once more. "Understand that you are safe here. No one will ever harm you again." She encouraged, drawing an apple from the basket as she held it up for Jonathan. "You need your strength."

He took it gently from her hand and made the frustrating attempt to eat  _ around  _ the core. The attempt was made but gauging its success was low as the people around him stared with odd looks passed between each other. 


	6. Chapter 6

Jonathan was skeptical at first as Old Bridget went about collecting a small sample of blood from him. He hardly felt it as she probed the selected spot on his wing then pierced it with a delicate needle sharp instrument. It was fluted and allowed the thicker dragon blood to pool down the tube into the small bowl she had waiting at the base. Sean cleaned and treated the wound after removing the tool, while Old Bridget continued her task. As the afternoon carried on, she was absent and Sean sat with Jonathan in an attempt to coax him into eating more than just a sparse few apples. His hunger was hard to hide when his belly rumbled loud and clear for the nearby humans to catch, causing Sean to look him over with concern. He offered to skin the deer for him, which Jonathan pondered then conceded to with a nod.

The act itself took several minutes even with Sean's skilled hands working a knife around the tender meat. As it peeled away from the carcass, the scent of fresh blood was intoxicating to his senses, causing his hunger to rear its head like never before. He shuffled in place, anticipation brimming in his bones as he trilled, eager for the meal. 

_'By Myrddin, what was that?'_

Sean glanced up with approval while Jonathan was mortified by his own behavior. He reared back, startled at himself as he forced away that instinctive impulse curling in his belly.

"There ya go." Sean announced proudly, pulling the pelt away to rest on the wagon. The horse stood idly, watching Jonathan with apprehension as the dragon inspected the bloodied heap of fat and flesh. It was the most unappetizing looking _lump_ the physician had ever seen in his life, including gruel from military rations. He raised his head and huffed in indignation. A snort of his nostrils caused a rolling puff of steam to rise up. Sean looked confused as he set the knife aside and stared at the meat trying to put together what exactly was wrong this time. 

Jonathan loathed the idea of ingesting raw meat, no matter how desperate he was in this strange inhuman state. But how to express this when he couldn't even speak?

He grunted and snorted once more as a tickle nagged at his nostril. He huffed to dismiss it only to sneeze instead. A cloud of fire burst from his maws and scorched the ground before him effectively cooking the meat but unintentionally setting the ground around it on fire. Sean jumped away with a startled cry before rushing to the trough to siphon some water and put the flames out. Jonathan assisted, using his uninjured wing to pat the embers out, mild panic rising in his throat like another ball of fire he forced himself to swallow back.

He offered Sean an apologetic look, or at least as apologetic as a wyvern possibly could. An underlying whine filtered from his chest as Sean patted his wing. 

"It's alright. Accidents happen." Sean assured him gently, taking a long look at the carcass now and laughing. "Looks about medium rare now."

That was an understatement but at least he fixed his problem. The smell of cooked meat was far more preferable to his palate than raw. Stooping his head, he used the very tips of his teeth to peel tender chunks away, prying it free with his tongue as he swallowed it whole. The rough texture along the top of his tongue scraped at flesh and suckled up the delicious juices. What began with the intent of delicate handling led to Jonathan pulling long strips from bone as he swallowed large meaty chunks with ravenous desire, sating the ominous growls of an empty belly. Teeth met bone as he gnawed at the marrow, cracking and splintering the clean white vessels for the nutrients within. His tongue probed about with dedication for every last taste until little else remained of the beast that once was.

Sean busied himself with tending to the horse, allowing Jonathan the privacy of his meal. As he was finishing up, Old Bridget returned to them, a little worn out in appearance but hopeful nonetheless. Jonathan's tongue slipped out to lap up the remaining juices that dribbled down his chin, escaping in greasy droplets along his scales. Satisfied with himself, he turned his attention to Old Bridget as she stepped around the remains of his meal.

"It's a pleasure to see you eating. Are you feeling better?" She held a hand out towards Jonathan which he greeted with a soft nudge of his nose to her palm.

_'My mother always said, a warm meal solves all your woes.'_ He purred.

"She sounds like a wise woman." Old Bridget answered with a smile creeping across her scarred face. The corner of her mouth twitched in the attempt to complete the joy that she felt at what Jonathan assumed was a successful spell.

_'You can understand me?'_

"I can and you are no mere wyvern." It wasn't a question but Jonathan felt a wave of relief as he nodded in confirmation.

_'I am or- I was a Scholar of Myrddin before I entered Fort Ascalon and met my misfortune.'_ His head lowered to the ground in defeat. She slid her hands along his face, fingers gently petting the scales under his eyes and stroking the length of his snout.

"Lord Redgrave." She spoke with disgust heavy in her voice. "His kind give witches like myself a bad reputation. His conjuring's are toxic to the world around it and he defiles the sanctity of nature itself."

Jonathan recalled the horrific damage done to the mountains and surrounding valleys near Fort Ascalon. How much of the land had been scarred long before the war began. It was violent and vicious, spreading like a blight over the Kingdom.

_'Can you help me?'_ Jonathan pleaded, his pale blue eyes alight like ice in an early dawn as he hoped for some way to return to his old self. To be human again.

"I'm afraid not." Old Bridget's shoulders sagged in sympathetic defeat as Jonathan slumped towards the ground as the weight of those words struck him. "Your kind are a connection to The Horned One and his power, but without the medallion you bore, I cannot ask him for his help."

_'You need my medallion?'_ Jonathan was puzzled.

"Yes. Since draconids have died out in this part of the world, there isn't enough pure raw magic for Myrddin to sustain himself with. Over the seas similar creatures as yourself still live in secret, but that does not help us here." She explained, turning to Sean who approached. 

"One of the last draconids to roam this land was the Sad Saint, a Kirin known as a Harvest Dragon." Sean spoke up, reaching for a leather cord around his neck to fish out an amulet similar to Jonathan's medallion that depicted a horned creature with flowers carved along the crest. "The Sad Saint walked the land in a cloak of moss bearing the seeds of all that is precious to nature, spreading them about the forests and mountains. It was last spotted climbing the rocky slopes of a mountain many years ago after a great fire had spread and charred the earth. There it was hunted down and slain."

He held his amulet out towards Jonathan to inspect. "Few recall that draconids were sacred beasts that maintained a balance in this world. Without this balance, it will crumble to chaos and die. As apostles of the Sad Saint, my brethren have spent our lives teaching the importance of their presence."

"Those who have been discarded by society or crossed the paths of witches like Lord Redgrave have sought shelter here." Old Bridget gestured towards the farms and the small town down the hill. "The Night Shelter welcomes the wayward and lost. You will be safe here."

_'Thank you, Old Bridget. And please, call me Jonathan.'_

"You're welcome Jonathan." She looked towards Sean thoughtfully before speaking once more. “We should allow you to rest. You need your strength after the ordeal you’ve been through.”

Sean nodded in agreement. “My apologies for the lack of accommodations but I’m afraid a wyvern won’t fit indoors.” He scratched at his beard thoughtfully as his eyes turned towards the town. “There are the mines.” He wagged a finger in the air, chasing an idea that piqued Jonathan’s interest. “On the edge of town, they’re closed for now but still structurally sound. I could open one up for ya if ya don’t mind. It’s not as cozy as a home but it’d be better than sitting out in the weather.”

“Would that work for you Jonathan?” Old Bridget spoke up. Sean lingered nearby, eager to hear his answer. It was a sound idea indeed and he didn’t necessarily enjoy the thought of sitting in the rain. If anything, it would make him feel at least mildly more human to have some form of shelter.

_‘I would appreciate it.’_ Jonathan purred.

“Then it’s settled. Sean, if you could open the mine.”

“Of course. I’ll go inform the lads that we have a bit more work to do.” He retreated back to the wagon, collecting the baskets and buckets from earlier into the back as he started to lead the horse down the path. The children that had been playing earlier raced alongside it, trailing after the apostle.

  
  
  


Sean had worked for most of the day to clear away the mine entrance and ensure it was structurally sound once more. Jonathan lingered about in the field to give his wing time to rest, but feared with the simplest call of nature, he had a moment of panic. Rationally, he had started for the town in a slow clumsy stride as he got his legs underneath him before he realized a human outhouse was not made to fit wyverns. As embarrassing as the idea was, mortifying more like it, he was forced to make a slow trek through the field and diverged away from the livestock pens and the small houses. He was careful not to whip his tail about and cause any exterior damage as he slithered by, making his way down a road that wound around the mountain.

Navigating the dense trees in the forest did not offer the same amount of privacy the physician was hoping for. It wasn’t as easy a task as tucking behind a trunk and letting his body do the rest. Being the sheer size he was, there was little chance of truly hiding and so he forced himself to ignore the potential of being crept up on and leaned towards haste in his business. He picked around the brush, digging up leaves and branches in the hopes of hiding the evidence of his transgressions, his personal pride in shambles by the efforts far too complicated for a creature lacking opposable thumbs.

On his way back to the Night Shelter, a scent enticed him away, heading further into the forest. He couldn’t place a finger on why it was so alluring, pulling at something inside his chest. A familiar ache of yearning as he cautiously moved through the brush, lifting his wounded wing carefully to avoid snagging or catching it on passing branches. The soil was soft beneath his claws as he pounded the earth with clumsy steps. His nostrils flared, parsing out the scent of a forest alive after a big storm. It was intoxicating with every breath, every smell magnified until it nearly smothered him but that ache in his chest only grew. Chasing it like a rope tugging him in one specific direction, Jonathan poked his head through the tree line as it opened up to a rocky expanse surrounding a lake. One end was thick with reeds and cattails protruding from the shallows, lily pads grew in abundance and the earth was saturated in the tracks of passing animals.

His keen eyes spotted the darting shadows beneath the surface and the tiny flecks of silver as minnows swam along the shoreline. He could see the breeding beds of fish nesting in a soft sandy area where the seaweed grew the least. He wondered briefly just how deep the water was, how cold it would feel on his skin. Driven by curiosity and the unrelenting need in his chest, he bowed low to the waves and inhaled their scent. A long low trill of delight left his throat as he started to slowly wade into the shallows. His claws squishing in the mud and muck as they kicked and paddled him out where it was deeper. He flexed his wings then spread them like boughs, allowing his body to float easily. The kiss of the water was pleasant with the sun at his back heating his scales and the cooler touch along his belly that soothed his wing and the dull throbbing that returned to it. His tail swayed back and forth like a rutter directing his course as he swam weightlessly out to the very center.

He made his paces around the water, seemingly pleased with himself and feeling content. He had lost track of time, until Old Bridget approached the shoreline, her arms cradled around herself as a breeze danced past, causing the skirts of her black dress to sway. The physician purred as he moved like a snake towards the shallows to greet her. The transition from the water to land left him feeling boneless and heavy after what appeared to be hours of paddling about.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Old Bridget spoke as Jonathan settled in front of her and lightly shook the droplets from his wings. The sun was high in the sky now, nearing night soon.

_‘It was wonderful.’_ Jonathan purred, a deep rumble that reverberated in his chest to extend his delight.

“There is a potency in the healing powers of water.” Old Bridget spoke, reaching to inspect his wounded wing. Jonathan noted how the pain had faded in it and the muscles felt stronger. The wound was still apparent which he expected as much. The Scholars of Myrddin believed well in the healing potential of water, the cleansing properties it held and how it soothed the aches and pains of many afflictions. “I have never seen a wyvern like you before, but if you were drawn to the water then that is the call of your nature.”

_‘My apologies. Did I worry you?’_ He recoiled back, a guilty knot winding in his chest now. They were a considerable distance away from the Night Shelter and for someone of her frailty to have walked the path alone.

“You are fine, Jonathan. You did no wrong. I just wanted to ensure you were safe.” She assured him. “Come, Sean and the others have finished their work. Night is coming quickly and supper will be ready soon.”

_‘Of course.’_ Jonathan sighed, giving his tail a final flick to shake the last of the water off of it. He waited for Old Bridget to lead the way and he followed. His concerns for other predators lurking in these woods were fleeting when he realized he had the biggest sharpest teeth among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick rundown for draconids in this.
> 
> Jonathan is a Wyvern specifically known as a Seafoam Dragon in this universe. They fluctuate between Air/Water affinity. They've been known to cause shipwrecks, wind storms, tidal waves/tsunamis and floods.
> 
> Then there were Burrowing Dragons that are known for their underground dens and are often associated with earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. They're actual Dragons with Earth/Fire affinity.
> 
> Then there are Kirins known as Harvest Dragons such as the Sad Saint. They have massive antlers and they're draped in a blanket of moss and vines home to thousands of tiny little seeds that are shaken off and dispersed to bring new life to the land. Their affinity is Earth/Water.
> 
> Finally there are Amphitheres that are called Storm Dragons. They cause massive thunderstorms and forest fires, hurricanes and shipwrecks. They have a Fire/Air affinity.


	7. Chapter 7

There was no time to mourn, sad to say but orders had been passed down to Geoffrey. With Ascalon defeated by their own folly, Geoffrey was handed the task to hunt down the beast that ended the war and capture it for the sake of the Kingdom. The Brotherhood, the slimy scheming bastards that they were, had convinced His Majesty that a dragon would be beneficial for the Kingdom, to be studied and kept where it could be controlled. As if they had not seen the same sight Geoffrey had, of a beast breaking free of its captivity and destroying the fort that held it prisoner. Their foolishness would be their ruin, but Geoffrey accepted the orders with a bitter smile. Orders be damned, he was going to slay that beast and make it pay in blood for the life it stole from him.

Finding a beast of such a size would seem easy to any too ignorant to the world and the wilds beyond the safe little walls of their precious city. Geoffrey walked the streets, ignoring the distant cheers of the common folk as their plight was ended, yet under the murmurs of court nobility, there was ill spoken words in regards to their losses. In the aftermath of the fire, the King gave an honorary title to Jonathan for his sacrifice. A medal in his name and a handsome payment to his remaining family was all that was offered for the man who gave everything to his country, as if gold could soothe the tears of his sister, or the painful cries of his elderly mother as she crumbled at Geoffrey’s feet and clutched to his cloak, begging for this to be some cruel joke.

“I’m sorry.” Was all Geoffrey could say, as Mary turned a murderous glare his way. He understood her pain, the way she spit blame at him, the words foul and bitter on her tongue. Geoffrey took it all with a defeated weight on his shoulders.

“You were supposed to keep my brother safe!” Mary screamed, her fists beating against the leather padding of the General’s armor. It was a futile attempt as her dainty hands tried to inflict some small fraction of her own pain upon him. Geoffrey didn’t even raise a hand to stop her. “You let them take my Jonny away! We trusted you. You were his friend!”

“I did all that I could but it was too late.” Geoffrey started.

“Lies!” Mary interjected as her palm connected with Geoffrey’s cheek. The stinging pain of the strike did little against the full body numbness that had spread over the soldier. Mary stumbled back, her hands covering her mouth as she trembled, falling back into the body wracking sobs that shattered her once more. Of course there was little Geoffrey could say against them. They didn’t know the passionate love he and Jonathan shared, he doubted they would have approved of it. And the blame was rightful as far as Geoffrey was concerned. A similar accusation he had placed upon his own carelessness. If he hadn’t been reckless on the battlefield, if he’d not given into the whims of his own weakness, he would have been there to stop Jonathan from going. He could have chased Swansea off and he’d be delivering bad news to some other unfortunate family instead.

He stopped by the inn on his way out of town to catch a bite to eat and a drink. He still had the key to Jonathan’s private room that was permanently reserved for the scholar, which he fumbled with between his fingers as he trudged up the steps to the third floor. Opening the door, it creaked slowly with an eerie groan as that one finicky hinge had yet to be fixed. It wasn’t large considering the near permanence of the residence. Geoffrey noticed the barkeep, Tom, had been up in recent days to water Jonathan’s beloved pet plant Lisa. The shelves of books were dusted and the bedsheets had been changed, presumably by Miss Cavendish.

It wasn’t often that an innkeeper would rent out a room like this for so long, but Jonathan had fostered a long time friendly relationship with the pair and helped them around the inn with odd jobs. He was a permanent fixture when he wasn’t studying or off saving people in the knitty gritty and backwater towns. Jonathan was one of the few men who genuinely cared about people without the promise of recompensation. Tom was sad to hear the news about Jonathan’s passing, Miss Cavendish was similarly distressed but both promised to continue caring for the scholar’s room until his family could come and collect his belongings.

In the meantime, Geoffrey took a seat on the bed, smoothing his hand over the pillow as he breathed in the familiar lingering scent of his lost love. He slowly lowered his face to the fabric as he breathed deeply of the herbal aroma that trailed in Jonathan’s presence. How it faded now with his prolonged absence, soon to be no more haunted Geoffrey’s thoughts as the remnants of his beloved steadily slipped through his fingers like water. His family will never accept him again, Jonathan’s memory was a footnote set aside for pomp and circumstance, nothing more than an afterthought to the nobility. The scholars would do little to memorialize a man that had done so much and the nobility already spoke slander of his name and the man had yet to be properly buried. All around him, Geoffrey was losing the last pieces of Jonathan that he had once cherished and come to rely on, the building blocks of what he had come to associate with home. In the absence of his heart, he knew he no longer had a home without Jonathan in it.

It came slowly, a building pressure that burned behind his eyes before the flood gates broke and he sobbed into the fabric, wadding the pillow up against his face to stifle his sounds. His shoulders shook, hard and painful with every oxygen deprived gasp before he managed to find some foothold against the storm of his own raw emotions. Dragging himself out of it sometime later, he did his best to assume some semblance of composure, adjusting his uniform and wiping his face clean. He gave Lisa a parting word, and locked the door behind himself. The night was early and he still had a long ride back to Fort Ascalon, or what remained of it.

The rest of Priwen was waiting for their hunt to begin.

* * *

  
  


“Hey Vuka, do you use chicken feathers for your arrows or…” Geoffrey overheard his captains already yammering on about some odd thought or another that would inevitably lead to their bickering matches. Easy banter for the early morning as they shuffled out of the camp and led their horses up the narrow slopes behind the fort. There was a nip in the air that curled at the nape of his neck causing the general to adjust his scarf to ward it off. Glancing over his shoulder, Geoffrey caught the eye roll from O’Connor as Bonner continued his questioning at Babic.

“Does this look like chicken to you dumbass?” Babic scowled over his horse at his friend. Geoffrey shook his head as the pair went about their usual routine.

"Hainsley said he saw you stripping a chicken the other night of its feathers for your arrows." Bonner blurted, hiking a thumb over his shoulder at the snickering men trailing behind them. 

"That's bullshite Bonner!" Hainsley crack up, shouting up the path towards them. "It was a quail!"

"Bull Hainsley! You said it was a chicken!" Bonner shouted back which was accompanied by Johnson's input. 

"Aye, I heard chicken too."

"See!" Bonner called. "So Vuka, was it a chicken?"

"I vill shove this arrow up your ass, Vinny." Babic cursed, shaking his quiver in what Geoffrey assumed was an attempt to reach one of his own arrows. "It is crow. See! Crow!"

Geoffrey was aware that each of his men had their own fletchings and style for their arrows, but every lad in Priwen had at least one red dyed feather on their arrows. Made recovering them on the battlefield far easier as they picked through the corpses.

The voices died down once they reached the plateau overlooking the slope high above the fort. Several days ago, this whole area was crawling with beasts and Vulkods and now it was terrifyingly empty. The activity had settled to eerie silence with not a single bug chirping or bird singing. The ominous presence of the fort had haunted many a man that slept in its shadow since this war began. The absence of _life_ that cloaked the land in a blanket of sickness and decay. 

Mounting their horses, they were able to make more headway. Babic helped guide, picking out the signs of damage from the dragon as it flew overhead. There was a few sparse traces of blood that the beast had shed but most of the trail had been washed away by the storm that had followed that night. There were branches broken, entire trees wounded by panicked claws snagging the bark. Another blood smear and bits of scales shed. They continued to follow it for several miles, a slow progress that led into the coming night. Unable to see the path any longer, they made camp at sunset. At the crack of dawn, the men made their way on foot as the forest grew denser and thwarted their path.

"We need to find another way around." Geoffrey cursed under his breath, picking through the thicket that blocked their path. O'Connor examined his map, checking their estimated location as he traced it with his fingers.

"There should be an opening to the east of us." He relayed. "It leads towards an abandoned mining town."

"Great." Geoffrey sighed. The last thing he needed was the damn beast taking shelter in the system of tunnels underground. "Let's get moving then." The general urged, steering his horse in the direction his second had declared. The men followed close behind, keeping their eyes peeled for any signs of the beast lurking about. They slowed when their horses grew spooked the closer they got to the road, forcing them to walk once again. 

"Fecking hell!" MacAvoy shouted not long into their trek. The soldier squawked and hobbled in one foot as Bonner barked out laughter, one hand clutching his saddle to stay standing as tears sprung to his eyes. 

"Of all the people to find dragon shit, it had to be MacAvoy!" Bonner howled as snickers rustled through the men, a few gave in with more boisterous laughter while MacAvoy spit a litany of curses at the world.

"Well, it's staying in the area." O'Connor sighed. "We know we're in the right place."

"Good." Geoffrey grunted. "MacAvoy, clean it up!" The general snapped, quieting his men with the bite of his words. The stern look stirred them back to their military precision. The beast was close and they needn't scare it off with their raucous if they haven't done so already.

They spread out to search but they needn't go far. Geoffrey tied his horse off with the rest near the road, securing their reins to a sturdy tree as he sauntered up a narrow footpath well worn by animals passing through. He could see a lake just beyond the brush and trees, the surface glistened in the afternoon light, a perfect place for a predator to hunt for easy prey.

"What's that?" Bonner murmured, nudging Babic in the side with his elbow to get his attention. Geoffrey glanced up from where he had been studying the recent tracks of animals to spy the strangest sight he had ever laid eyes on. O'Connor stopped short by Geoffrey's side with a similar expression of bewilderment. 

The dragon they'd come searching for wasn't too far out from the shoreline, the sleek black scales reflected the sunlight like glass as it beat down on the water's surface. The beast in question was currently upside down with its tail and hind legs flopping and splashing about in the water in an attempt to stabilize itself. The top half was submerged with its wings caught in an awkward motion between trying to dive and trying to float. The closest estimation of what it was doing, Geoffrey could only assume was similar to ducks that dive to gather food from the bottom of the shallows. 

"Is it-" Bonner tilted this head in confusion. "Is that normal for dragons? Is that how they catch fish?"

"I don't think it's catching anything lad." O'Connor answered with an odd crook of his jaw as he tried to examine the beast. "That ain't normal behavior for a beast like that."

"Look at its ving." Babic pointed out, prodding a finger in its direction as the rest of the men turned their attention towards it. The wing that was currently outstretched to help the beast float looked unnaturally shiny where the water lapped over the webbing. Geoffrey wasn't blind enough to miss the signs of an injury. "Probably can't hunt."

"Aye." O'Connor nodded in agreement.

"Well it can't fish for shit." Bonner blanched.

"Neither can you." Babic jabbed, giving him a swat to the side as Bonner scowled at him.

"I can too!" Bonner countered.

"Quiet." Geoffrey barked. "We're here to kill a dragon, not critique its methods."

"We shouldn't kill it." O'Connor interjected. Geoffrey whirled on the larger man with disbelief. The larger man gestured back towards the water. "Just watch it a little longer."

"Why?" Geoffrey snapped.

"Be patient sir. Besides, we can't fight it anyhow until it returns to land." O'Connor spoke calmly against the rising anger in Geoffrey's voice.

"Fine." Geoffrey crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his men. "A dragon's a dragon all the same."

"You'd be surprised, sir." O'Connor hummed and found a seat on a fallen log. Babic promptly joined him, leaving Bonner and Geoffrey to stare after the two.

Several minutes passed as they watched the beast raise its head from the water and snort, causing a spray of steam in the air around it. It trilled, seemingly delighted as the sunlight reflected bright colors in the vapor before shaking its head. It swiveled, inspecting the water thoughtfully before diving head first back in and repeated its earlier splashing, causing chaos in its presence on the otherwise normally placid lake.

"Given what we know so far, I think it's a fledgling that was raised in captivity." O'Connor finally spoke after several minutes of silence. "Most adult animals don't often play like that when hunting would be far more preferable."

"It does not know to hunt." Babic interjected. 

"It would seem so." O'Connor sighed. "Maybe it never learned."

"Then it vill die. Ving is vounded, von't heal vell vithout food. Vill suffer and die." Babic explained. 

"It don't feel right." O'Connor countered. "It's just a baby still. We shouldn't kill it."

"It vill die anyvay. Or get hungry and find other easy prey." Babic added.

O'Connor shook his head and stood, pointing at the beasts wing once more. "Look at it again. Does that look like a hungry dragon?"

"Aye." Geoffrey grunted.

"Look closer." O'Connor urged. "It's energetic. How many days has it been since the attack?"

"Five." Geoffrey answered simply.

"And we all know what five days without a meal does to us." Bonner grimaced at that and nodded in agreement as the larger man continued. "Does that look like a starved dragon?"

"It is finding food elsewhere." Babic answered. 

"Or someone is caring for it. Its wing looks cared for. I can't be for certain unless I can get closer." His voice trailed a moment in thought as he scratched at his jaw and sighed. "I believe we should leave it alone. Let it live its life in peace."

"It killed people." Geoffrey growled. 

"And it was a frightened fledgling escaping Gods know what Ascalon was doing to it." O'Connor retorted, holding his ground as Geoffrey approached with a flash of anger. He ground his teeth, turning to examine the beast once more before shaking his head in dismissal. 

No, he was not going to get sentimental about a beast that took Jonathan away from him. It was a mindless monster that killed hundreds in a matter of seconds. What else could it accomplish if left alone? How many more lives will it _accidentally_ take?

"It's dangerous." Geoffrey sneered.

"Look around sir. Do you see anyone it could bother? There's plenty of food and territory for it." O'Connor reasoned, causing the General's hackles to fall. He struggled to hold tight to his anger as it was, to bare it like a shield against his problems.

He tore his gaze away from his men when movement drew his attention. The dragon's head swiveled and perked, the pale blue eyes locked with Geoffrey's and he swore the beast _chirped in excitement_ once it locked on to him. With wings spread and its body balanced in the water, the tail worked seamlessly as the beast swam towards them. Geoffrey's hand fell to his sword, knuckles tightened on the grip as the beast unbalanced itself on land, stumbling over its own tail as it practically barreled into him, knocking the soldier to the ground as it headbutted him. The air was knocked from Geoffrey's chest the moment his back hit the ground. In a moment of panic, his hands raised to defend himself, grabbing at the beast's face to fend it off in whatever attack it was attempting. Which apparently involved a wet rough tongue against his face. The general was shocked as he gazed up at the beast with confusion.

"Well, that answers that." O'Connor heaved a sigh of relief as the beast loomed over Geoffrey with what sounded like _purring_ rumbling from its chest. "I think it likes you."

"Well aren't I a lucky bastard?" The sarcasm dripped from Geoffrey's lips with a strain of panic in his voice. His desperation for help was lost on his men who preferred to mock him as what felt like a mountain attempted to _cuddle_ him in the mud.


	8. Chapter 8

Jonathan was slowly learning about his body as the days slipped by and he eased into a routine of activity. When the sun rose, he would emerge from the mine to find breakfast already waiting for him compliments of one of the hunters in the village. He would roast it, growing more accustomed to using the fire inside him with careful practice and eat until he was sated. He’d watch Sean take the sheep out to the fields while the morning carried on with its usual activity. 

Jonathan noticed now that he could settle in place and watch, that the townspeople were rather unusual in their appearances. Some had disabilities or were misshapen by curses. A child with the legs of a goat raced around with normal children, giggling and playing. A man covered in fur helped move lumber as they fixed a shed. A woman stricken with blindness wore bandages around her eyes and told stories to the children. Old Bridget tended to illnesses and injuries in her little home tucked on the edge of the town, a residence she shared with Sean as they cared for the people that found their way to them.

Around noon, Old Bridget would come to tend to his wing, smearing the herbal paste across the injury as she examined its progress. Jonathan was grateful for her care as she spoke with him about the people and answered all of his questions with patience. Afterwards, he would head off for the lake for a swim. The water called to him with a familiar ache that pulled right down to his bones. He couldn’t move fast enough when it was in view, sliding into the water and pushing away from the shallows with his claws, his wings stretched out to help him float and steer. His tail worked like a rudder as he did laps around the perimeter of the lake itself. Growing more comfortable and familiar with his body, the physician started testing the limits of his physical abilities.

The feel of the waves lapping at his wings were a pleasant reprieve as he flailed and flopped about, playfully causing waves to rise with his wings as he reared back and stirred up gusts to send large ripples echoing around him. He eventually tried to ride his own wake, which after some effort, was eventually successful to which Jonathan spent the next several hours amusing himself with the same activity to see how far he could go and how large of waves he could make as he was currently. 

The following days shared the same curiosity questions as he foraged for berries along the tree line around the lake. He greedily consumed his fill, licking berry juice away from his mouth with a long rough tongue. The absence of his hands was still a problem he encountered but he found compromises and improvised new tools and tactics using his tail, wings and tongue.

Nearly a week had passed by when Jonathan found himself floating not far off of the shallows right where the drop off made the water murky and hard to see the bottom. The sun was bright against his back despite the early hours of morning. There was hardly a cloud in the sky and the air was calm. Holding still as he relished in the peace of nature drew in a pair of curious ducks that landed on the water’s surface with ease. They swam around in the shallows, finding a bed thick with seaweed and harboring small fish as they darted in and out of the protective greenery.

Jonathan watched with idle fascination as the mallard dipped its head below the surface, balancing itself in the water with its feet and tail feathers in the air. He continued to watch for several minutes as they remained under the surface, the seaweed moved beneath them causing small ripples that encouraged an idea in Jonathan’s head.

It wasn’t exactly his best idea yet as he navigated his wings in an attempt to tip his own body under the water, his head broke the surface and plunged into the cold. It felt good washing over his face and scales but the human part of his mind panicked when he realized he hadn’t taken a breath to hold. Flailing in the water, he panicked and pulled himself back out. Several tries later, and he figured out that as long as he didn’t _think_ about what he was doing, his instincts would take over and his body could hold itself underwater without the rampant fear of drowning in his mind.

He was far from graceful or elegant as he bobbed in the water like a disabled duck. His tail overbalanced him as it swayed and slapped the water. His legs kicked as he tried to catch the fish that darted past him, causing him to shift and dip then bounce back up to the surface. His good wing plunged under with him but his wounded one remained outstretched and flattened on the surface in an attempt to keep himself up.

At one point, Jonathan gave up on trying to catch himself a fish and resigned himself to enjoying the view. To his amazement, there was a second lid that slid over his eyes when he submerged beneath the water, protecting it from irritants and allowing him to see better in the darkness. The urge sprung forth to dive completely under but some part of the physician worried for his wing and the strenuous activity. Settling with his playful bobbing, he rose back up and spouted steam through his nostrils, trilling in delight as a rainbow spread in the stream misting back at him.

He repeated the activity, gauging the length at which he could hold his breath this time around. He steadied his tail, letting it float with him to keep some form of balance though that nagging desire to kick his feet didn’t help him stay still. Eventually he was forced to resurface. Shaking the water off of his face and sliding his second lids back, he blinked and peered around, pausing as a familiar figure stood on the shore.

Jonathan felt his stomach jump with excitement as Geoffrey stood on the sand and gravel, watching the physician as if he were waiting. Truly, this had to be a dream of some kind? An illusion? Had he actually suffered some form of oxygen deprived hallucination? Nonetheless, when their eyes locked, Jonathan was already moving towards him. His legs kicked faster as he glided far more elegantly than when he first met the water. He forgot about the transition from shallows to land and stumbled over his own tail. He hadn’t meant to headbutt the General in the chest as they both heaped on the ground with a resounding thump but that didn’t stop the excited trills that reverberated within his chest. His head bobbed and swooped excitedly as he inhaled the scent of the soldier he had fallen in love with so many years ago. He buried his nose into the soft red fabric of his scarf and felt Geoffrey’s hands groping at the sides of his face as the rest of Priwen laughed and jeered at their leader.

_‘You came for me. You were looking for me.’_ Jonathan purred, and to his mild embarrassment, indulged in the less than human urge to lick Geoffrey across the face. His tail flopped against the ground as Jonathan sat up and gazed down upon the man beneath him, his body only slightly pinning him in place but Jonathan was far too excited to realize he should move away. He bared his teeth in a pleased smile, as noises he couldn’t describe himself left him. 

_‘I knew you would come for me. My Geoffrey. My sweet beloved Geoffrey.’_ Damn this curse, Jonathan wanted to spit. His chest swelled with a joy so strong he wished he could cry and call out to the man in front of him. But he was forced into silent celebration as Geoffrey squirmed beneath him.

“Get it off of me.” Geoffrey snapped to his men who all eyed Jonathan with a wary glance. The physician shied away as the weight of realization landed upon his shoulders. His wings sagged as he stepped away, allowing the soldier to rise back up. His head lowered in a sympathetic show that he meant no harm to his beloved as he gently nudged him up to his feet. Geoffrey raised a gloved hand to push Jonathan away and scowled.

_‘He doesn’t know.’_ Jonathan deflated briefly, _‘Of course he wouldn’t know.’_ The rejection hurt but he needn’t let that dissuade him of this moment, a reunion albeit one sided was a relief to Jonathan. To know that Geoffrey was safe and sound brought him more joy than the scholar could rightfully show given his current status.

“It likes you.” O’Connor chuckled, helping Geoffrey dust off his armor and adjust his scarf. The General glared at his second with disapproval. Jonathan edged a little closer to nudge at his back, breathing heavily through his nostrils to help wipe the dirt and grass away. Geoffrey jerked and twisted towards him with wide eyes, causing Jonathan to creep back anxiously. He shuffled in place, conflicted about how to approach his lover. There was an anger in Geoffrey’s eyes that he had never seen before, freezing him in place as his heart sank in his chest.

“Maybe you look like one of its caretakers?” Mr. Bonner was the ever helpful voice that interjected among them from where he was perched beside Mr. Babic. He combed his fingers through the mess of curls that bounced in front of his green eyes only for them to remain stubborn and in the way. His lips twisted into a smile as he waved at Jonathan. “If it was captive born, maybe you could train it like this. Imagine if Priwen had its very own dragon?”

_‘I am not a pet to be trained Mr. Bonner. How ludicrous!’_ Jonathan huffed at the thought as Geoffrey mirrored the same action with his own snort of derision.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Geoffrey grunted. “Those fools at Ascalon tried to cage the beast and ya see how well that worked for them. The Brotherhood doesn’t see that they’re playin with fire. You can’t capture what ain’t meant to be yers in the first place.”

“That I can agree with.” O’Connor sighed, turning to glance over Jonathan with a curious eye. Jonathan tilted his head and sidled up beside Geoffrey, shadowing his movements as the General shifted idly in place. There was an amused laugh in the larger soldier’s through as he nodded towards them. “It really likes you.”

“I don’t really care what a dragon likes.” Geoffrey snapped.

“Wyvern.” O’Connor corrected. “Wyvern’s are significantly smaller than Dragons.”

“How do you know that?” Mr. Bonner turned to face O’Connor with a raised brow. Jonathan was just as eager to know the answer, his ears pricked, keen to catch every juicy detail when the men weren’t aware of his eavesdropping. It wasn’t like he was new to snooping on gossip and idle conversations but this was a rare chance for Geoffrey’s men to speak freely without fear of being overheard by outsiders.

“The Brotherhood can hoard as many tomes as they please in their archives, but there is nothing they can do to stop the passage of knowledge on spoken word.” O’Connor pointed out. “And I’ve traveled further than the Stole’s reach on Priwen orders over the years.” 

_‘Ah, yes.’_ Jonathan recalled now. O’Connor was an intelligence agent in the early years of his service to the Guard of Priwen. He traveled long distances for several months at a time under Carl Eldritch’s orders and returned with information not even the Brotherhood was privy to. Thanks to those days, he was Geoffrey’s expert on, as the general had so eloquently put it ‘weird shite’ from magic to beasts to all sorts of other strangeness. The most important of all that and the only thing the men of Priwen seemed to focus on upon O’Connor return and permanent fixture as Geoffrey’s right hand man, was the wide range of skills he picked up, cooking specifically. Jonathan had to admit, the larger man’s ability to make succulent dishes out of meager rations was exemplary. Jonathan had been gifted the honor of joining Priwen suppers over the years thanks to his close affiliation with Geoffrey.

Which, the memory alone was enough to rouse his hunger. The sun was at its highest point in the sky and he felt his belly rumble aggressively at the thought of a well cooked meal. The sound was not missed by the rest of Priwen as they chimed in with similar sounds of hunger.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to stop and have a bit of lunch.” O’Connor clapped his hands together, earning similar nods of agreement and grunts from the other Priwen guards. A hive mind of hunger, Jonathan amused himself with the thought. He gently nudged at Geoffrey’s side as the soldier remained prickly despite the relaxed state of his subordinates. 

“What? Yer just opting to have a picnic with a dragon?” The general grumbled, stalking after O’Connor as they headed for their horses. Jonathan contemplated following but was caught off guard by the shy approach of the young redheaded recruit, one Mary McKinley. The freckled faced young man was beckoned along by Mr. Bonner who gave his shoulders a gentle shove towards Jonathan.

“Go on. Pet it.” Mr. Bonner encouraged the younger man, who’s hands shook with fear. The thought was degrading but Jonathan felt pity for the youth and relaxed his wings. He lowered his head to nudge against the extended trembling fingers grasping the air with terror in his eyes. The sudden sense of relief washed over Mr. McKinley as Mr. Bonner gasped in surprise and approached close behind. Jonathan didn’t mind the familiar hands that had aided him in his work in the tents. Fingers he had patched up, wounded by blisters, bruised knuckles or broken bones swiped gently along his neck and in a tender caress over his scales.

“Oh holy shit.” Mr. Bonner breathed sharply. “I can’t believe he’s actually letting us touch him.”

“What?” Mr. McKinley squeaked. “You told me he was fine with it!”

“Well, he let McCullum pet him so…” Mr. Bonner shrugged with indifference at that. “You know.”

“That’s not the same!” Mr. McKinley groaned. “He could have eaten me.” If only Jonathan could roll his eyes, he would do so now. Instead he indulged the curious glances and even more intuitive touches of the two soldiers as they scratched at his scales and carefully picked their way around, searching for more pleasant locations. Jonathan released a belly deep groan and melted into a puddle on the ground when Mr. McKinley found a really pleasant spot behind his skull, nestled between the ridges. He groaned and flopped, his tail thumped the ground as it swayed and bumped the gravel, his feet kicked at the dirt in little twitches. He was in heaven. His thoughts of Geoffrey had been briefly dissolved in lieu of attention. How little he realized that he had become so ravenously touch starved as he stretched his good wing out and rolled to the side to shove more of his softer belly scales. Their fingers outlined the smoother texture in comparison to the rougher armor on his back and shoulders. It wasn’t as noticeable in all honesty until someone was touching it.


	9. Chapter 9

Geoffrey’s irritation was growing as the beast continued to nudge and prod at him. Listening to his men as they sided with the dragon only shoved that blade of betrayal further inside his chest. He didn’t give a damn what the crown or the Brotherhood wanted. He didn’t care a lick of what his men’s thoughts were on the subject. If it came down to it, he would kill the beast on his own. One way or another, it was going to die and he was going to get the justice that Jonathan rightfully deserved. 

As the men began to unpack and set up camp, Geoffrey was stopped in his tracks as he stalked back towards the shoreline as his words fell on deaf ears with O’Connor. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of Bonner, McKinley. Babic and Hainsley standing around petting the damn wyvern like it were a lap dog. Watching it flop and roll about on the ground like a pampered pet under their enthusiastic administrations made a bitterness crack inside of Geoffrey. “Fecking beast.” Geoffrey cursed, steeling his anger before it could slip away once more. 

His fingers patted his breast pocket, reminded by Jonathan’s medallion which he kept close to his heart. His promise to his beloved inspired a fire inside him once more. He held onto that pain, that anguish and drew it upon his shoulders like a cloak to keep the rest of the world away. That beast in particular. 

“You keep strange company.” A female voice rose from behind him, drawing Geoffrey to turn on his heel and his hand to reflexively drop to the sword on his hip. His fingers tapped the hilt as he inspected the odd woman in front of him. What he had initially mistaken for aged features, he quickly recognized as burn marks. They were old, healed over after a time as they puckered the corner of her mouth but an eerie beauty remained about her. She kept her hands folded in front of herself as she walked with a delicate stride. She reminded Geoffrey of the women in court attached to the crooks of the elbows of esteemed nobility with noses too big for them to see past, always shoved into the air like bloodhounds barking after a rabbit. There was a lack of conceit in her mannerisms. Something more genuine, almost sympathetic towards him as she regarded the soldier.

“Who’re you?” Geoffrey asked, slowly retracting his hand from his sword. He watched as the woman turned her gaze upon the wyvern and smiled sadly.

“They call me Old Bridget.” She spoke solemnly. “I care for the people of the Night Shelter.”

“The Night Shelter?” Geoffrey asked before O’Connor’s words rang in his ears about an abandoned village nearby. He sighed in resignation and forced his hand to relax. “Ah. You live in the town up the road.”

“Indeed. As does he.” She gestured towards the beast. Geoffrey grimaced at that. _So O’Connor wasn’t wrong about it being cared for by humans._

“You're feedin it. No wonder it stayed in the area.” Geoffrey ignored the sound of purring from the beast as his men continued to indulge it in attention like a pet. He refrained from snapping at them to get back to work and turned his eye back on the woman. She watched the whole group with an eerie calm to her, a strange sort given they were all armed strangers. 

“You’re not worried bout a bunch of armed men in the forest?” He had to ask.

“No.” She answered simply and without hesitation. “He is a good judge of character.” Old Bridget explained. “I trust his instincts.”

“That’s a lot of trust put into a mindless beast.” Geoffrey snorted in derision and folded his arms over his chest. He shared no empathy for the fools that let a starved creature into their homes. They will be the first to be surprised when it turns on them as all beasts often do.

“Do not look upon the world with such a narrow mind. You’ll find surprises lurk just beyond your sight and you will remain blind to their truths.” She warned, a slight sternness underlying her words before she turned to head back the way she came. Her steps were light and measured, barely leaving any prints behind in the earth. “You and your men are more than welcome to visit the Night Shelter.”

Geoffrey clicked his tongue and shook his head, turning his attention back towards the group as O’Connor scrambled the men to help prepare lunch. To his mild annoyance, the general was carted into rolling up his sleeves and assisting his second with Bonner and McKinley by his side as they cut up vegetables to add to a large pot. To the collective amusement of Priwen, the wyvern offered a flame to help start the fire to which it shuffled happily in place and settled back to watch them race about with what Geoffrey could only assume was a contented look.

A few of the lads had been busy catching fish using nets in the water and tossing corn from the horse feed to lure them into it. Babic and Johnson returned with their arms full, drawing the beast's attention to their direction. Geoffrey tensed, his hand dropped to the sword on his belt as it slowly crept towards the two guards. Its tail bumped the makeshift table they had set up for preparation causing a stir in its wake. A surprised noise as the men dropped the net and reached for their own weapons in alarm rustled the beast out of its hunch before it flopped onto its stomach and crooned at the net of wiggling fish with longing.

The guards stared about in confusion, sharing glances with one another before a silent direction was understood and they relaxed. The beast huffed through its nostrils and parted its maw to lick at the net with a hungry whine. Geoffrey approached the heap with heavy steps and kicked at the ropes that bound the now stunned fish. Reaching in, he hissed as the spines of one nicked his hand before tossing the damnable thing towards the wyvern. It caught the fish in its open maw and buried its long sharp teeth into the scales. The slippery feast had little chance of escape as it hunkered over and swallowed the morsel whole.

“Now go lay down.” Geoffrey growled, shaking his hand as he inspected the blood pooling across his palm. He reached for the canteen on his belt to wash the wound as O’Connor stared at him with a knowing look over the cooking pot. “What?”

“Nothing. You should clean that wound.” O’Connor urged with a faint smile.

“Aye, ya don’t need to mother hen me now.” He waved dismissively at his second and marched past the beast as it swiveled its head to follow him. Geoffrey stopped when he felt a nose nudge against his shoulder and turned with a scowl. “I ain’t got anymore fish fer ya. Fuck off.”

Maybe cursing a wyvern off when he was face to face with a mouthful of sharp teeth wasn’t his brightest idea yet but he was doing it now and there was no going back. He watched with a hitch in his breath and a thundering of his heart leaping high in his chest, rattling against his ribcage as it tilted its head, breathing in deeply of the soldier. Panic came swiftly as it noticed the blood on his palm just as quickly as Geoffrey realized his folly. What he hadn’t expected was the rough tongue that licked at the wound with tenderness. It leaned in closer until Geoffrey could smell the lake water and mud on its scales, warmed by hours of the beast basking in the sun. Its black scales were surprisingly warm to the touch as it nuzzled against the crook of his arm and trilled loudly, the vibrations rippling through Geoffrey’s chest in time with his fluttering heart.

“Fucking hell.” Geoffrey hissed, raising a hand to push the beast away before it steadied on its head. “Of all the people fer ya to have a soft spot for, why’s it gotta be me?” He lamented miserably as guilt caged around his heart. The damn thing was making this so much harder than it had to be.

It playfully nipped at the linen shirt Geoffrey wore beneath his armor, having removed it like the rest of his men had when they started making lunch. His sword remained on his hip but Geoffrey had to admit, it felt nice being able to dress down occasionally and relax. He doubted it was the smartest thing to do when there was still the threat of danger close by but the beast in question was proving harder and harder to hate.

Geoffrey sighed, resigning himself for the moment now that he was away from his men, and trailed his fingers along the wyvern's wolf-life snout. His index finger outlined the bump along the bridge of his nose. An odd scar sliced through the scales parting them long ways over the arch with another smaller scar cutting like a crest beneath its eye. A pull of familiarity drew a pang of regret in Geoffrey as he wondered what had caused such a wound to the fledgling. He will admit, it was exciting being able to get so close to a dragon of legend. If only it had been under different circumstances, he would have enjoyed the experience. Maybe even indulge in a childish fantasy of trying to ride it. He could already imagine Jonathan's disapproval as he frets over Geoffrey's safety and the way the scholar's eyes light up when he finds something new and exciting to study.

The soldier sighed, dropping his hand to stroke the side of the wyvern's face thoughtfully as that familiar ache welled back up once again. The burning behind his eyes was a bitter companion he blinked away quickly and fended off with a shuddering breath. "Jonathan would have loved meeting you." He admitted, a bitter laugh low in his throat as that hollow echo rang loudly against his heart.

Geoffrey wondered just how quickly the scholar would ramble about everything involving the wyvern as his eloquent words slip and stumble over each other, his tongue incapable of keeping up with the speed of his own thoughts. How Geoffrey would be forced to grab him by his shirt and kiss him for his own sake of mind to make the man shut up and slow down for once. _Take a breath, please._ He'd plead to the adorably foolish man with that warm smile on his lips as they'd brush against Jonathan's in a tantalizing trail stealing the scholar's thoughts. 

_I have far better ideas for how to put that mouth to use._ Words that would never cease to fluster and silence Jonathan even in jest as Geoffrey cradles his jaw, stroking a thumb over the warm thick well maintained beard he found he enjoyed so much. It was hard to recall that there was once a time where the scholar was just as baby faced as Recruit McKinley in the early years of their relationship. He preferred the beard much better now.

Geoffrey felt the weight of the wyvern's snout against his hand and noticed his fingers were shaking. He curled them into fists and took a step away from the mournful whine of the beast. How dare it look at him like that? With sad eyes that begged to him, seemingly requesting a part of Geoffrey that it did not deserve to know. A piece that it had already viciously stolen from him. Grinding his teeth, the soldier felt the blood well up in his fist, dripping between his fingers as he agitated the wound further. As the wyvern looked on with another whine, Geoffrey turned quickly and continued to storm off back to his horse. He needed time to think away from the beast and his men.

* * *

The walk was shorter than Geoffrey anticipated solely due to the fact his anger could only last so long on an empty stomach. Now he was just plain grouchy as he made his way back to their lakeside camp. The forest smelled pleasantly of the stew, carried by a gentle breeze that cooled his skin. The day was hot beneath the sun causing his shirt to stick to him with sweat as it beaded down his neck and collected at the base of his throat, soaking through the fabric. He found more than a few of his men had disarmed and dressed down until they wore only trousers, a handful had undressed further for a quick swim.

A couple stragglers remained sitting around a campfire as they finished their meal. Geoffrey joined them after O'Connor passed him a bowl. His stomach grumbled loudly though he himself did not, casting a glance over his men as they carried on like youths. Bonner and Babic were wrestling in the shallows in an attempt to dunk one another under the surface. McKinley was diving under and digging around to collect what appeared to be mussels. Strother was sitting further down washing dishes with MacAvoy where they'd pulled a couple logs up to perch on.

He was nearly finished eating, half listening to the idle conversations of his men as they told stories and cracked jokes back and forth, easing his tension with the familiarity of easy banter, when he noticed something off. Searching the shoreline and the water itself, Geoffrey frowned at the realization of the beast's obvious absence. Before he could word his concerns, O'Connor sat down beside him with a heavy groan, weariness pinching his brows as he stretched to dissuade the aches in his massive body. 

"If you're looking for the wyvern, he left on his own. Headed up towards the village." He waved a hand in the direction of the Night Shelter.

"And you just let it wander off on its own?" Geoffrey blanched.

"It sat here with us waiting for you to come back. It didn't bother nobody and didn't pay us any attention. Didn't even eat when we offered it some food. Just kept staring after the path you took before it finally gave up and sulked off." O'Connor explained simply, as if a dragon acting like a loyal hunting dog eagerly waiting for it's owner to return was a simple matter. Geoffrey frowned at the continuous strange behaviors of the beast that eluded him so much.

"I don't get why it's fixed on me so much." He grunted, digging around the bowl for the last bites of his meal with a grimace. All the damn thing was doing was making it harder on him when the time comes. It's like it _knows_ he's planning something and it's trying its damndest to slip by unscathed.

"Maybe you look like someone it knew." O'Connor offered. "If it was raised by humans, someone had to take good care of it for it to live long like this and we all know Ascalon didn't care enough to waste time like that. Someone raised it, nurtured it through its life and made a special connection to it. And I believe it thinks that's you."

"It's got a bloody shite hand at picking folks." Geoffrey hissed. "I ain't gonna spare a beast fer sympathy." As much as he'd wish to. He couldn't ignore the growing mass of guilt spreading inside him, they lead weight that dropped heavy in his guts every time he thought about it. As much as he tried to lie to himself, he felt a pull towards the beast. There was something there and as much as he covered it up with bitter words and ignorance, he could feel it. He _wanted_ to say fuck it all and ignore all the rest of the world. To put some good out there one final time but Geoffrey wasn't good at caring for nothing. He was raised and trained to kill and killing was all he was good at. He supposed he and the beast at least had that in common.

He didn't miss the disapproving look aimed his way by O'Connor or the way the bear like man shook his head with a defeated sigh. He shoved his hands into the dirt and pushed himself back up to his feet with a grimace and a stifled groan. "You'll see your mistakes sir, but by then it'll be too late. I can only hope you can survive it when the time comes."

_The fuck does that mean?_ Geoffrey wanted to say, the eerie way his second spouted cryptic weird shite was as unnerving as the fact it often turned out true. It only steeled the bitterness inside him as he set the bowl aside and glared at the fire. The good natured commentary of his subordinates had fallen to silence as they watched him with pensive glances and anxiously poked at the dirt with sticks.


	10. Fanart by Pack Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a brief interlude with fanart from Pack Hunter in the Pembroke Hospital discord server! It's very cute and hilarious and I wanted to post it in here with their permission for the rest of you to enjoy!
> 
> Also I suggest switching to desktop view for this chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

_‘Geoffrey, promise me.’_ The voice called across a battlefield of smoke and mist, a shadow in the distance that called out to the General, hand extended as the wind bristled warmth against his neck. A roaring fire raged, licking along the landscape as it encircled the scholar, separating them with a wall of flames that raged. It arched over the trees in the valley and scorched the greenery that once stood as a testament to the land and the people that had fought valiantly for it, leaving nothing but cinders in its wake.

“Jonathan!” He called after him, as the voice faded behind the roar of the fire. The earth quaked and split beneath his feet forcing a cavern to open up like the vicious maws of a beast as sharp teeth and glowing eyes crawled out of the abyssal darkness. Beasts that descended from Fort Ascalon and stole away the light that had illuminated this miserable world for him. A temporary flicker in the corner of his eye as the scholar called, his voice too soft to be heard but the impression of its meaning was seared into his chest.

_‘Live for me. Never forget the home that awaits you my beloved.’_

  
  
  


Geoffrey was dragged from a restless sleep in a cold sweat, the thin linen shirt clung to his torso, sticky and uncomfortable as he writhed and searched the darkened camp for any signs of a charred battlefield and the endless sea of blackened bodies that had been left in the tracks of a beast beyond nightmares. He carded his fingers through his hair, the damp bangs pasted to his forehead and stuck to his fingertips as he shook the dredges of sleep off. The fires smoldered in their hearths where the lads had gathered to chat and share a few tales before sleep. Now they were huddled on their own bedrolls or inside their tents. Geoffrey had forewent pitching his own tent and wandered the paths and trails for much of the evening before he succumbed to the weariness that wormed into his bones.

His back ached as he sat up, the hard ground didn’t do him any favors as he stretched to ease the kinks from his back and shoulders. Drawing his boots back on, he slowly picked around the cluster of men gathered around the camp, pausing long enough to offer a silent nod to O’Connor whose grey eyes turned to greet Geoffrey with a questioning look. His rat Francach was tucked against his chest as the second indulged the tiny creature with head scratches.

It wasn’t uncommon for the soldier to take a leisurely stroll in the middle of the night. Oftentimes he would find himself headed for Jonathan’s tent to blow off some steam and pent up energy, finding solace and counsel in the scholar’s presence as they’d talk until the grey hours of morning. Now he didn’t have that luxury as he meandered along the edge of the lake and found his feet taking him towards the road that Old Bridget had come from before. She had offered sanctuary to the Guard in the Night Asylum, a safe haven for them to stay away from the dark forest and the potential creatures that lurked beneath the cover of moonlight. As grateful of the offer as he was, Geoffrey didn’t trust the people of the town, especially in knowing they were harboring the very same beast that took his Jonathan away from him.

His belt felt uncomfortably light without his sword by his side, but he forewent the decision to carry it just this once. He was secure in the knowledge that he had a knife in his boot should trouble arise but he doubted anything of interest will happen this evening.

The village was much like most he had seen in passing along the countryside, spotted with farms and small pastures that kept the livestock in happy little pens away from predators. The mountains loomed over it, sheltering the land in its shadow as the small huts and tiny homes were lit by the sparse candles in their windows. Many of which had been snuffed out this evening, with only two or three still remaining to show that the town wasn’t entirely abandoned. Along the edges of the town, Geoffrey noticed the entrances that were boarded up along a rocky cliff side, one of which was open and lit by lanterns hung from the wooden pillars.

The ebony gleam of black scales reflected the faint glint of firelight as he slowly approached the entrance of the mine. The wyvern was nestled in a tight ball, its tail tucked against its side with its wings folded loosely. He noticed its head was sheltered beneath one of the wings as he slept unaware of the soldier that approached it. His footsteps were light, hesitant to get too close as he spied on the beast. The ground around the entrance was marred by scorch marks and littered with animal bones that had been gnawed on and carefully heaped out of the way, presumably from its supper.

The beast’s chest rose and fell slowly, soft whines rising in its breast as it grunted and twitched, a paw kicked and scuffed the ground in idle motion. An abandoned attempt to adjust itself in its sleep before it snorted, nostrils flaring with a deep exhale before it lifted its head. A sleepy and sluggish motion as it blinked blearily, the second eyelid sliding across as it focused on Geoffrey. A pleasant almost friendly trill rumbled in its throat as it lifted its wings and stretched its neck and tail out before straightening up as if beckoning the soldier into its den like an old friend.

“Maybe O’Connor was right.” Geoffrey muttered to himself, thinking back on the assumption that he may look familiar to the wyvern and it mistook him for a caretaker. That could be a deadly mistake on the beast’s part as Geoffrey slowly approached the den. He tensed when the wyvern bumped its snout against his chest and nosed up along his shoulder to huff warm air across his neck as it curled under his jaw. It felt mildly pleasant against his cold clammy skin, as the sweat from earlier cooled on the walk up and left him a bit chilly. He cursed himself for not dragging his cloak out of his pack before wandering off, a habit Jonathan often chided him for.

The beast nuzzled against him, despite Geoffrey’s protests as his hands rose up to push the muzzle away from his face, the nagging anxiety that came with the knowledge of sharp teeth so close to his tender bits. He was instead greeted by the warm wet tongue that lapped at his neck and made him stumble back with a few unpleasant words spit in frustration.

“Stop that!” He hissed, scrubbing his palm against his neck to clear the saliva away, grimacing in disgust as it smelled faintly of fish and blood. A wing flexed, reaching out to tuck around Geoffrey before the soldier noticed, his legs swept out from underneath him causing him to land on his butt beneath the beast’s unnerving gaze. He saw a flash of sharp teeth and felt panic seize him as deadly maws parted.

This was it, he thought. This was how he was going to die. Foolishly consumed like a lamb before a wolf as the very prey he hunted turned into the hunter. He threw his hands up to protect himself, twisting away from the wing that ensnared him as a rush of warm hot air surrounded his body. He expected fire and brimstone, searing pain and sharp teeth. What he got instead was steam that filled the mine entrance until a thick fog rolled around them. It rushed out of the beast’s nostrils in curling plumes that warmed Geoffrey’s skin as he was tucked protectively against its breast. The scales were warmer, he could feel the thunderous beat of a steady heart beyond the smooth black plates.

His palm spread over the scales, impossibly soft under calloused fingers as he outlined the intersecting plating that made formidable natural armor. It was a rare chance for Geoffrey to observe his prey so closely, to have an opportunity to appraise it and allow himself to be impressed with its versatility. A creature of legend said to have the potential to decimate armies and destroy entire Kingdoms in a single night. Geoffrey scoffed as he thought it over. He had seen its power. The strength it displayed in Fort Ascalon. 

_'The power of a frightened and wounded animal.'_ He reminded himself. His eyes trailed to the healing wing with the lighter grey jagged scarring that split the scales apart in tender patches of healing flesh.

The wyvern nuzzled into the crown of his hair causing Geoffrey to flinch momentarily then relax against the strong muscular torso as the beast proceeded to warm the mine and cradle him fondly. He would push the doting snout away and huff in mild annoyance, his arms folded over his chest as he scowled determinedly at the wyvern. Its pale blue eyes were almost a ghostly white as it tiredly blinked at him, the second eyelid giving it an eerie look as its head slowly lowered in an attempt to urge the soldier to sleep as well. Geoffrey couldn't deny the bone deep exhaustion that had consumed him since this bloody war started or the painful ache he felt as he yearned for Jonathan's arms around him as he slept through fitful nights.

"Aye, aye. I got it." Geoffrey mumbled, shooing the wyvern's nose away as he relaxed against the soft caress of the wing. It was certainly more pleasant than the hard ground, the steady drum like beat of the wyvern's heart reminded him of Jonathan's, courageous and strong in it's own right. A thunder resounding within its ribcage as it purred to him and settled its head down as a sign of resignation.

  
  


Whether it was some cruel joke or a trick of his mind, Geoffrey hadn't anticipated waking up cradled beneath the wyvern's wing as the early morning rays of sunlight beamed into the mine entrance. The creature's head was nestled firmly against his chest as Geoffrey looped an arm around its neck and held it close, his fingers interlocked in refusal to let go. His head was snug against the wyvern's shoulder, still listening to the thunderous beat of a resting heart as the beast continued to sleep.

His second in command stood at the mouth of the mine, arms folded and brow raised in amusement. Beside him stood a small redheaded man with a fresh kill ready for the wyvern's breakfast. Geoffrey grimaced as he started to free himself from the entanglement only to get a wing hovering back over him as the beast's tail cut him off. He twisted to find the sleepy eyed glimpse of the wyvern who took in the presence of the two new additions, snorted in dismissal to them both then resumed its curled up huddle with Geoffrey unwillingly pressed against its chest as it appeared to choose him over breakfast.

Geoffrey scowled at the strange turn of events as his second snorted. “Got worried when ya didn’t come back last night.” O’Connor chuckled. “Thought ya got lost.”

“More like held captive.” Geoffrey grunted and squirmed. The wyvern pressed its face against his lower back and nuzzled against his spine, causing the soldier to stiffen and writhe at the strange sensation of warm air rolling up under his shirt. He ground his teeth and shook his head in defeat. “Help me, O’Connor.” 

“But yer getting along so well.” He teased as the redhead watched them both with a passive expression. There was a curiosity in his eyes as he appraised the two men, then turned an eye to the wyvern.

"Come now friend, you should eat." He stepped towards the wyvern without a care for the sharp teeth and ferocious claws that the beast had. He extended a gentle hand to touch the draconid's wounded wing. Geoffrey had expected backlash from the beast but it only relented to the coaxing touch and released the soldier. Geoffrey scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off as O'Connor started to head away from the mine to give the beast a wide berth. Geoffrey hadn't made it two steps before teeth caught the back of his shirt and he was dragged back into the mine by the wyvern. It nudged him to sit down by its side as it stood and stretched its body with the languid care of a lazy feline before turning it's full attention to the slain animal.

Geoffrey stiffened as flames erupted from the beast's maw and cooked the unfortunate kill, leaving the earth charred around it. The meat was tender and falling off of the bones as its teeth ripped into it, peeling back large chunks. Maybe it was too many years on the battlefield fending on meager rations and whatever else the Guard could scrounge up to feed themselves with, but the smell was heavenly and stirred his stomach to growl in agreement. He frowned when the wyvern nudged him with a slightly bloody mouth and peeled the back straps off of the deer, offering them carefully to Geoffrey who looked mortified. Was it seriously trying to feed him now?

He glanced towards O'Connor who carefully hid his laugh behind his hand and noticed the redheaded man smiling in amusement as they watched the general and waited for him to make his move. The wyvern nudged at him insistently, pushing the cooked meat closer to his face as his stomach growled once more. 

"I'm good." He muttered, holding his hand up to refuse. The wyvern wasn't taking no for an answer as he laid the meat back down on the carcass and toasted it with another puff of flame until it was better cooked. Geoffrey hadn't the chance to refuse as the warm meal was placed in his hand by the attentive wyvern who trilled at him urgently and nuzzled against his side as if urging him like a stupid fledgling on how to properly eat.

"Go on now sir. It'd be rude to refuse such a gracious offering from a draconid." O'Connor grinned at him, a smile that split from ear to ear in sheer delight at this turn of events. Geoffrey realized he will never live this down and O'Connor will never let him forget.

"Aye." The redhead added. "When the Sad Saint bore fruit from its antlers to feed the hungry travelers who later became its Apostles, it was said to have bestowed a blessing upon them." He spoke with a reverence that was unlike anything Geoffrey had heard.

He grimaced at the meat and shook his head in disbelief as the wyvern purred and huffed at the crown of his hair. The warm air reeked of fresh meat as it curled down his back. ' _At least it's cooked through.'_

He took a hesitant bite, his teeth sinking into the tender meat. He wasn't one to be picky about food, especially not when it came to meat which was oftentimes a scarce commodity during the war. He made himself swallow down a bite, hoping that would sate the beast but when he looked up with a reluctant smile, the wyvern only nudged his hand once more and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue before turning away to it's own meal. Geoffrey heaved a sigh and worked on every last bite, pointedly ignoring the snickers of his second in command.


	12. Fanart By Oreneta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love this amazing fanart by Oreneta of Wyvern Jonny and stubborn grumpy Geoffrey!
> 
> The colors are fantastic and they put so much work into it. Its lovely!!
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/oreneta/art/Live-For-Me-859982884


	13. Chapter 13

Geoffrey didn't know whether to be amused by it or embarrassed for the beast as he ran (waddled) frantically away from the hissing feathered fiend that snapped its beak at the wyvern's tail. The noise it made was undignifying for anything bigger than a horse to be making when something in punting size was the cause of its distress.

The problem started this afternoon when Priwen gathered for lunch at the Night Shelter, compliments of Sean Hampton, who had generously asked the guard to join them all. A conversation that went on presumably while Geoffrey was asleep with the wyvern, between O'Connor and Mr. Hampton. He had grumbled about the fact his second didn't defer to him for his thoughts on the matter and instead jokingly jabbed back that he would have but Geoffrey appeared to be enjoying his breakfast with his new scaly friend.

The general grumbled and huffed indignantly at his second as they packed up their belongings and moved their camp up to the town where they had more shelter from the mountain and were closer to people. And, coincidentally, the wyvern's personal nest on the edge of the town.

"It's not everyday you see something like that." Bonner chuckled as they stood about while lunch was being made by attentive hands. Geoffrey was perched on a fence post with an apple in hand that he had been methodically slicing pieces off of and popping them into his mouth. 

"Aye." Geoffrey grunted in acknowledgement as the wyvern tucked its wings close to its side to make it between the narrow space of two houses. The angry goose it had somehow upset was hot on its tail.

"Should we help it?" Bonner asked.

"Why? It's perfectly capable of defending itself." Geoffrey retorted.

"So were you when the wyvern started cuddling you." Bonner added.

"And none of you bastards raised a hand to help me either." Geoffrey growled back, the heat of anger was absent though despite the scowl on his face as he took another bite of the apple before tossing the leftover core back into the pig pen.

Geoffrey watched a moment more as the wyvern flapped its wings causing strong gusts to try and discourage the goose's determined approach, a gesture that appeared to only infuriate the feathered fowl more as it honked loudly like some hellish demon.

The soldier didn't feel pity for the wyvern, a fact he would claim if ever asked, but unlike the draconid, he knew someone else who shared a similar phobia to the pudgy ferocious birds. It had been funny, the first time he saw Jonathan being chased by a goose in their youth, an emphasis on _had_ though when Geoffrey realized that Jonathan's desperate attempt to escape the bird that hunted him and tried to fend it off with a sizable stick had the young man in tears. Geoffrey had to wrestle the beast until he had it secured by the wing and neck and manhandled it back to the pen it had escaped from. Finding Jonathan later, huddled up on top of a stack of hay bales, hyperventilating over the attack was about as heartbreaking as he could imagine. It was one of the few phobias the scholar had, after being viciously attacked by a goose at a much smaller age, he harbored a bone deep fear of the birds. Ducks were fine as were chickens, but geese were the stuff of nightmares for the man. A simple and seemingly shameful phobia in his mind, Geoffrey had consoled him and vowed to be his knight in shining armor, chasing off every errant goose that dared harm his friend.

Seeing the wyvern so distraught only reminded him of his beloved Jonathan, urging him to his feet as he once again, wrangled the goose up with quick hands, narrowly avoiding the webbed feet that scratched at his arms and the wildly jabbing beak that went for his face. He wrestled it into compliance and carried it back to the pen it belonged to. Upon releasing it, he turned to find the wyvern, slumped in a huddle on the ground, its entire body trembling right down to its wings. Its chest shook with every strong breath that wheezed from it as it whimpered. 

_'Fucking hell._ ' Geoffrey cursed as he approached the beast and laid a cautious hand on its wing. It flinched sharply and made a frightened noise before giving in to the soldier's touch, unfurling to nudge its head against Geoffrey's chest as if seeking comfort. It shuffled closer, still shaking like a leaf in a storm as it whined and huffed and wrapped its wings around Geoffrey.

"It's alright now. You're safe." He murmured to the beast. He was well aware that Bonner was still watching him but he didn't honestly care. He wasn't so cruel as to watch it struggle and suffer. Besides, if it got too distraught, all it would take is one unintentional burst of flame to set this whole town ablaze along with all of its occupants. That was a disaster that Geoffrey would not be able to live with if he stood by and allowed it to happen.

The heavy sigh that escaped him was somewhat punched out of his chest as the wyvern nudged him again and looked up at Geoffrey, pale blue eyes meeting the soldier's deeper darker blue as the beast keened at him like a wounded dog. A wobbling jaw felt like a knife slicing into his heart as he gave in and stroked a reassuring hand across the wyvern's snout and along its muzzle. The soft shush that left his throat was low enough that Bonner couldn't hear it from his perch on the pig fence.

"How are ya goin to manage to survive if ya can't even rightfully defend yerself?" He asked aloud despite no question ever leaving the beast's tongue. It seemed to squeeze him tighter as if in a silent answer, either that or Geoffrey was imagining things that weren't there.

Their little huddle was interrupted by O'Connor ringing the dinner bell, causing both to jolt suddenly in surprise and straightening up. The wyvern refused to let go of Geoffrey but after a little bit of coaxing, he was able to free himself as long as he kept one hand on the beast's wing or neck. The moment his hand started to slip away as they walked, the wyvern would nudge it with its snout and draw the hand back into place. Thankfully they were all eating outside for lunch with tables gathered around a communal cooking pot lined with all sorts of folks chattering and lively. They turned their eyes on the general and his scaly companion in their approach, his men split amused smiles across their faces as they beckoned him over to sit with his captains.

He was forced to seat himself on the end of the table, not for the extra space or ease of climbing in and out, but because the wyvern wouldn't stop shoving its head between him and Babic to rest it in Geoffrey's lap, nearly tossing Babic into Bonner on the other end of the bench seat. With a bit of rearranging, the wyvern could now easily 'beg' without bothering the rest of Priwen. The heavy weight of a scaly head in his lap was unnerving to Geoffrey, knowing sharp teeth and the ability to spew fire was resting over his crotch. One impromptu sneeze would leave him mortally wounded for the rest of his life.

The lunch was a roast pig that had been cooking for a good portion of the morning, slow roasting over a fire that was carefully prepared. Various vegetables accompanied it along with fresh breads. The spread was a tantalizing feast for the eyes as bowls and plates were passed around. The wyvern nudged gently at Geoffrey’s stomach as he peeled a piece of pork away from the charred skin of the pig. It licked its muzzle, eyes meeting Geoffrey’s with a small hungry huff. The General paused with the piece halfway to his mouth as the weight in his lap grew heavier the more the beast leaned into him. He winced and scowled down at the beast who crooned up at him with want.

The wyvern’s eyes followed the drip of juices from the tender pork shredded on the plate before Geoffrey, the glistening crispy pig skin causing the beast to shuffle closer. Its nostrils flared as its belly rumbled like a rolling thunder. Bonner leaned around Babic and chuckled when he caught a glimpse of its source.

“Looks like he wants a bite, boss.”

“Well, he ain’t gettin none of mine.” Geoffrey grunted, giving O’Connor a glance. “What do wyverns even eat normally anyway?”

“Anything they can get their mouths on I suppose.” O’Connor answered with a shrug. “He seemed particularly fond of the fish from yesterday.”

“So he’s a garbage disposal.” Bonner chirped.

“Like you.” Babic grunted as he stabbed a chunk of potato with a piece of pork and shoved it into his mouth. Bonner huffed and poked around his plate navigating around the vegetables he really didn’t like but O’Connor had dished out on his plate before handing it off.

The wyvern was adamant in its whining but Geoffrey could be just as stubborn in his refusal. After several minutes of failing to persuade the General into passing the crispy piece of pork skin his way, the draconid waddled over to O’Connor, and repeated the whining noises. The great bear of a man met Geoffrey’s gaze as the General shook his head no.

“Don’t do it.”

“It’s my duty to feed the lads.” O’Connor answered simply as he rose from his seat to fix a plate for the wyvern.

“He ain’t one of the lads!” Geoffrey blurted. A sound of protest that was met by deaf ears as O’Connor cut a large piece of the flank off of the pig and added a few spoonfuls of the tender vegetables, finishing it off with a large chunk of bread set on the side. He placed the plate on the ground where the wyvern could easily reach it before returning to his seat.

“What?” O’Connor stretched his legs out to get comfortable, meeting Geoffrey’s disapproving glare.

“You’re only encouraging it to beg at the table.” Geoffrey pointed at his second with an accusing fork.

“He’s been a good lad. He kept you in line.”

The dirty look aimed at the larger man was dismissed as he went about eating his own lunch. Bonner made a thoughtful noise beside Babic. “Would that work for me too if I tried it?”

“No.” Babic cut him off before he could even continue the ludicrous train of thought.

“Why not?” Bonner challenged for an answer.

“Cause the wyvern eats his vegetables like a good boy.” O’Connor answered.

“But I don’t like vegetables. I want meat.”

“Not until you eat your vegetables.” O’Connor gave a curt nod at the younger man.

“Can I have more meat?” Babic perked up.

O’Connor inspected the captain’s plate and gave a nod of affirmation. “Aye.”

“Hey!” Bonner hissed, devolving into the usual banter as they bickered lightheartedly. Geoffrey ignored his men and their jesting squabbles as he cut the piece of bread open and packed it with pieces of pork and potato before promptly chomping into the makeshift sandwich. His gaze fell to the wyvern who carefully picked its way around the plate methodically, using its tongue and teeth to gingerly eat bits of vegetables and crunch on the large piece of crispy skin attached to the hind piece that O’Connor had peeled off for him. His eyes met Geoffrey’s as sharp teeth pulverized the pork and lapped the juices up running down its jaws with a delighted chirp.

_‘What’s my life become?’_ Geoffrey sighed, giving a defeated shake of the head as the wyvern returned to its meal with a self-satisfied purr, effectively consuming everything until its plate was licked clean and returned to O’Connor’s side with the aforementioned dish held gently in its teeth as if asking for seconds.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is particularly short but it's a set up for the next chapters events which will be in Jonathan's perspective.

Chaos. 

That was the simplest description Geoffrey had for the way his life had upended and spiralled into this ravine of despair. His own counsel worked against him as he was forced to sit idle through long winded conversations about mundane topics all the while the wyvern was napping with his head tucked once more atop the General's lap.

Maybe it was insanity or boredom, but Geoffrey found his hand gently stroking the beast's neck under the table and out of view of his men. His fingers spread over the smooth scales, exploring the little bumps around the base of its skull and that special spot from before that started a steady contented rumble in the beast's chest.

He tuned in and out of the conversation as O'Connor and Hampton talked about the Night Asylum and how it got its name. Apparently, Mr. Hampton and Old Bridget brought refugees and outcasts into the abandoned remnants of an old mining town and, in one night, built their new home. It was supposed to be temporary but the land was fertile and Hampton said he saw a sign from the Sad Saint, that this land was meant for them. He wouldn't necessarily elaborate on what exactly that sign was.

"You know a lot about draconids." The statement came from Bonner who was leant against the table with his arms folded in front of himself, eager for every story their host could share. Rarely was the fidgety soldier so enamored with a topic before, but he supposed when it came to beasts of legend, those were a tale every man was eager to hear. Even Geoffrey himself to some extent.

"Yes. I am an apostle of the Sad Saint. I tell the tales of draconids and share the lessons the Sad Saint has passed on to us, to teach mankind in his absence." Hampton explained with a reverence often only held by priests and religious fanatics but there was a softness to it. A respectful tone that wasn't obsessive in its quality but uplifting. Hopeful maybe? 

Geoffrey wondered if this wyvern's presence gave the man a sudden hope that draconids may return one day and the balance will be restored. All Geoffrey could think about was what sort of destruction that could cause. Mankind has never been the type to share well with others, even now they war against their own over land and power. The kingdom wouldn't think twice about hunting down every last dragon in existence if it meant more power.

He supposed that didn't make him much better in the end. His gaze slid down to the wyvern's sleeping form heaped against him. The level of trust he had in Geoffrey, the lack of fear he felt in his presence. Was it truly misguided or did the beast recognize the lies that Geoffrey had been telling himself to justify his anger?

The men continue their discussion, about the importance of the beasts and their presence. About the Kirin and the power they held that could heal a wounded landscape or even the injuries inflicted upon the animals within. How it carried the energy and life force of the land, manifesting in the fruits upon its antlers. It bestowed wisdom and knowledge to its chosen apostles when they consumed its offered fruit.

O'Connor was drinking in every word as he fed nuts and pieces of bread to his rat. Geoffrey felt an uneasy tightness in his chest, strong like a fist wound up inside his guts. He tried to ignore it for what it was, guilt and all its unsavory sensations turning the good meal sour in his stomach. He excused himself from the table and pushed the wyvern's head off his lap, flicking it in the nose to wake it up so it would move. 

It startled and jolted back, shaking its head as if groggy from its nap before staring at Geoffrey with wide eyes.

"What's up boss?" Bonner called, turning to inspect Geoffrey with brows furrowed. Most of the table had turned a judgemental eye his direction that only burned him up a little more. As if they'd forgotten why they were here in the first place.

"I'm going for a walk." He grunted and started heading away from the table. He didn't get far before he heard the awkward shuffle of the beast getting to its feet to follow him. He turned on his heel and growled. "Stop following me!"

The wyvern jerked suddenly with a whine in its throat and bowed its head in a placating attempt to draw closer. Geoffrey stomped his boot in an attempt to scare it off but the beast only flinched briefly before trying once more.

"Go away. Leave me the feck alone!"

"McCullum!" O'Connor stood up from the table to intervene as Geoffrey grew increasingly more agitated at the stubbornness of the beast. It stood its ground in trying to get closer to him even as Geoffrey curled tight fists by his side.

"Fuck off O'Connor." He ground his teeth, ignoring the stares of the collective at the table now focused on the two men. The wyvern shuffled anxiously in place but didn't waver in its stance by the General's side. 

"I know yer angry but don't go blaming the beast for it. You need to let go sir." O'Connor spoke firmly, the paternal care he often used for the lads was lost on Geoffrey at the moment. 

"This beast is at fault for taking the only thing I fucking loved away from me and you want me to forgive it?" Geoffrey spat.

"It's hard, I know sir but it's not the draconid's fault-"

"Would you still be sayin this if it had killed Gertrude? If it burned yer children up in a fire 'n all you had left was to hold their smoking corpses unable to tell one from another? Well, would you?" Geoffrey raised his voice, stomping toward the giant bear of a man as he squared up with him. The fury on his face was silenced only by the harsh slap that struck his cheek.

O'Connor spoke carefully. His words formed slowly as the gentle expression turned hard and stern. "Don't let your anger bite your tongue off before you have a chance to plead for forgiveness. I know you loved Jonathan but this is not how you should carry his memory."

Geoffrey grimaced, recoiling from the shock of the strike before snarling. "Who are you to lecture me about love and loss? Leave me the fuck alone. All of you!" 

"Sir."

"Consider these yer final orders. Pack the fuck up and head back to the city. Priwen is disbanded. The hunt is over. Tell His Majesty that he can choke on a gods damned sword for all I care." Geoffrey hissed, his whole body quaked with his rage, boiling like fire burning up his veins.

"You don't mean that sir." Bonner blurted from the table as he was quick to stand.

"Go home." Geoffrey growled before turning sharply and storming off, effectively leaving everyone shocked and staring in his wake. He lacked the care to address it any further. He didn't have a home to return to. There was no one waiting for him at the end of the day. His duties were done. His job was finished. His final act of desperate disobedience sealed his fate even further as he careened towards a disastrous end of his own choosing. If only he could burn up in the same fires that stole away his beloved Jonathan. To feel that sweet release into the ether and the endless void of nothingness.

There was no glory. No final battle or warriors fate in store for him. He didn't want it. He didn't need it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years everyone!

"Should we go after him?" Mr. Bonner inquired as the Captains of Priwen gathered around in the aftermath of their leader's explosive temper. Jonathan wasn't feeling very good about it, well aware of Geoffrey's self destructive tendencies in regards to loss. He remembered painfully well just how horrible he had been when Carl Eldritch had passed away.

Of course, Jonathan knew that over the years the general had been carefully working to manage his outbursts with meditative exercises and redirection, mindful of his words learning to let that which he could not control roll off him like rain over a cloak. He wasn't as impulsive, no longer a slave to his stronger emotions and the temptations that came with them. Saving his rage for the bloody thrill of battle or the laborious act of training where he could expel it through physical exertion.

But this? Jonathan hadn't expected that all of Geoffrey's rage, his anguish, the prickly demeanor that was sharper than he remembered and his dissociative tendencies as of late were a result of a massive misunderstanding. He hadn't truly considered what Geoffrey had thought had happened to him if he was not aware that the very draconid before him was the man he loved. 

He supposed it made sense that Geoffrey mistook Jonathan for dead. Knowing he was the reason for his heartbreak and self-destruction only furthered that pain in his chest. He let it out in a whine, lamenting his own foolishness for not seeing it sooner. He was so caught up in his excitement that they were together again, that he ignored the hard reality around them.

"If no more Priwen, then orders do not apply to us." Mr. Babic pointed out. "Ve could just kidnap idiot and drag him back home vith us."

"Really Vuka?" Mr. Bonner blurted, shaking his head. "I'm not tying him up or explaining why we have our commanding superior tressed up like a festive Goose."

"I vasn't suggesting ve tar and feather him but if you insist." Mr. Babic shrugged as Mr. Bonner swatted his shoulder. 

"I meant the feast kind, Vuka."

"Enough you two." O'Connor interrupted, massaging the bridge of his nose as he let out a heavy sigh.

"Could always go get mum." Bonner added but grew quiet when O'Connor directed a stern look his way.

"If I may?" Old Bridget interjected gently, drawing everyone's startled expression to the soft spoken woman who had sat through the whole encounter without uttering a sound. From the expressions on the men, they had seemingly forgotten about their host's presence.

"Yes miss?" O'Connor returned in kind.

"You mentioned a name. Jonathan?" She started.

"Yes. He was a scholar of Myrddin that died in the attack on Fort Ascalon." O'Connor elaborated with a tired sigh, coming to rest back in his seat where Francach waited, paws extended and eager to climb back up into the massive man's front pocket.

Old Bridget shared a knowing look with Sean before both their gazes turned to Jonathan where he had sat in a sulking slump where Geoffrey left him. He raised his head to address their expression, a question in the woman's eyes that Jonathan understood. 

_'Please, tell them the truth. I need Geoffrey to know what has happened to me.'_ He pleaded with a desperate sound in his throat.

"Of course." There was a puzzled look that passed between the members of Priwen before Old Bridget continued to speak. "The wyvern before you is your Jonathan."

"That ain't funny." Bonner sniped with a warning.

Old Bridget nodded. "I understand he may have been very important to you all but what I say is true. Lord Redgrave's spells of necromancy are only a part of the atrocities he has inflicted upon the land. He has cast curses more deadly and dehumanizing on many who cross his path. He attempted to do the same to your scholar of Myrddin, but Myrddin's power warped the spell to protect Jonathan, turning him instead into a wyvern."

The men turned to stare at Jonathan who shuffled in place awkwardly before dipping his head in a mockery of a bow.

"I rubbed your belly!" Bonner crowed.

"You've done worse to Babic." Bishop chirped in unhelpfully.

"Yes but he married me." Babic added with a smug smirk.

Bonner's cheeks grew hot as he shrank back into his seat. "Why didn't he say something about it sooner? Why didn't you?" That was a fair question that Jonathan didn't really have a good answer to. He never told Old Bridget that Geoffrey and Priwen were important to him. He was sort of caught up in his own thoughts and his excitement of what he had become and trying to navigate the complicated world he discovered that it sort of slipped his mind. That was entirely on him.

"We were not made aware that Jonathan had a personal connection to your people. When he came to us, he was badly wounded and disoriented." Sean explained, gesturing to the town around them. "We made him as comfortable as we could given his affliction."

"But without his medallion, there is nothing we can do to remove the curse that made him what he is." Old Bridget shook her head mournfully.

"McCullum has the medallion." Jonathan heard O'Connor add, causing the wyvern to snap his head up as he continued. "He's kept it on him since he left Fort Ascalon. It's damaged from the fire but still recognizable."

"Then you must find him quickly. If anything happens to that medallion, Jonathan cannot return to human. He needs that connection to Myrddin." Old Bridget urged.

"Now can I kidnap him?" Babic chimed up, earning a roll of the eyes from most of the group. Jonathan shook his head, giving a snort of amusement as he considered the habits of his lover. The man was prone to storming off to cool his head and think, a valuable tactic most of the time when Jonathan knew his usual perches that he would find the man, sulking and soaking in the fresh air away from the raucous of others. A majority of which involved climbing somewhere ridiculously high where only the most daring or most stupid would follow. Jonathan has, on numerous occasions, endeavored to follow him up trees, towers and even steep cliffs to chase after his lover and join him on his precarious perches to sit in comfortable silence.

In a forested mountain side, that left an enormous amount of places for him to look. Though, as he sniffed the air, he recognized the scent trail of familiarity that drifted in the wind. He supposed it wasn't a lost cause if he could hunt the soldier down like a bloodhound. As embarrassing as the thought was, it was his best bet so far.

The forest was quiet as Jonathan waddled off, leaving Priwen behind as they started to plan search patterns for the area. Knowing Geoffrey, the man would avoid high traffic locations so the lake was off the list. Given the direction he went, he vacated the vicinity of the Night Asylum.

The scent took him down the path towards the lake but veered off to a small slip away trail, older than the paths that traveled the woods now, and remembered only by the sparse stones marking the edges of the trail and the wildlife that used its shortcut. Jonathan estimated the miners once used it as he squeezed his way through the trees, flapping his wings with a bunny hop to get over the fallen trunks of ancient trees. His injured wing still ached from exhaustive movement despite the wound having healed, leaving an off color scar tissue behind on his scales.

He lost his balance trying to scale the steeper slopes, and lacked the tools to grip the rocks around him in a traditional sense. With a frustrated screech, he peered around the forest in search of anything useful to give him the leverage he needed. Judging by the scent trail and the obvious mud prints that scaled the stone face, Geoffrey had taken the path up to the rockier ledges above. Which Jonathan could not reach in his current circumstances.

_'If I could fly-'_ He sighed, giving his wings a long and mournful look. _'Theoretically I could but-'_

But the one and only time he had flown, he was in a blind panic and he was wounded during it. Stretching his wings out, he gave them a test flap. It was no different than swimming with them, right?

At least he hoped so otherwise he was in trouble.

It took a lot of effort, a lot of frantic flapping as his talons dug into the stonework to get his weight up off the ground. His nails dug white streaks down the stone face as he worked with heaving breaths, gaining a foot or so only to slide down a few inches. He clambered desperately to the edges in the painfully slow climb. A frustrated whine left his chest as he resorted to biting the rock ledge to keep himself from losing ground as his wings ached and each desperate flap grew weaker. Pushing through the burn in his proverbial arms, he forced himself up a little higher, with teeth and claws and talons trying to grope for purchase until he managed to reach the first flat ledge big enough to store his body without the threat of falling off.

He heaved in deep gulps of air as he examined the height at which he managed to climb finding he still had a long way to go as he craned his head up to inspect the ledge above. He noticed the amused stare of the general from where he had perched himself high above where he had a perfect view of the forest below. Jonathan envied his abilities as a human, the ease that he missed dearly to regain. Opposable thumbs and the ability to speak with his own voice were among his most cherished and expressly missed traits.

Sucking in another large breath until his lungs drew tight at their limits, the wyvern exhaled and forced himself back to his feet to continue the painstakingly agonizing climb that was obviously not something this body was meant for.

It felt like hours passed as Jonathan struggled up the rock face, digging and clawing frantically as talons slipped and his jaws and wings were throbbing in pulses of sharp pain. After two breaks on two different ledges, he finally dragged himself over the final one, slumping into a heap and crawling across the stones until he was safely away from the edge. The weight of his tail weakly tucking against his side as he gulped in air as quickly as it left his lungs. His whole body trembled from the exhaustion that burrowed into every last bone and muscle. His wings twitched in painful pulses but he made it and that was all that mattered.

His head rolled to the side to gaze up at Geoffrey's approach, failing to muster the energy to lift it as the soldier knelt by his side with a sad shake of his head. "Ya can't even fly."

_'Neither can you but you don't hear me griping about it.'_ In fact, he was glad the soldier couldn't fly off. Had he chosen a higher perch, Jonathan would have never reached him.

"You've been lucky to get as far as ya have like this." Geoffrey stroked a hand over Jonathan's neck, massaging the length of his scales with his fingertips. Jonathan closed his eyes as he felt the warmth of the soldier's hand and the gentle weight as it slid down to his shoulders. The tender touch over his wings caused them to relax clumsily at his sides, as the soldier inspected the quivering muscles that twitched beneath the leathery layer of tissue.

The earlier anger appeared to have bled out of the man as he settled his weight in a crouch. His expression softened and neutral, studious of Jonathan, and maybe even thoughtful to an extent?

Jonathan directed his gaze towards the view that Geoffrey had been pondering. It was certainly beautiful. With the golden rays of mid afternoon sun bathing the lake down below. The wyvern felt the dry pull of his own scales as his body craved to sink into the cooler depths and recover from the strenuous activity. To plunge deep into the depths and forget his woes, chasing only instinct with blissful ignorance. To forget that there was a war or that his service to the Kingdom was a priority. Needless to say, becoming a draconid was the most freeing and eye opening experience he has ever had and he was grateful for it. He could see the world through new eyes.

Though, he understood now that that sort of blissful ignorance had consequences. His loved ones suffered in his absence. People needed him. Geoffrey _needed_ him. Even while he was with the man this whole time, it wasn't good enough. He needed to tell him the truth. He needed to let Geoffrey know that the beast he blamed so determinedly was the very man he thought he lost.

He could only hope they could move on from this ordeal, overcome it and find better footing and stronger ground on the other side. Preferably in a place that wasn't so high up in the air.

"You've faced yer own hardships in what short of a life you've had. I know ya think I'm someone you know. Maybe someone that was important to ya. Maybe in another life, maybe under different circumstances, things could've been different." Geoffrey stroked a hand along Jonathan's head as he cradled the wyvern's jaw and drew his head into the soldier's lap. Jonathan nosed at his forearm and greeted the affectionate touch with one of his own, licking the length of Geoffrey's arm and nuzzling into his wrist.

"I made a promise to myself that I would see this through." Geoffrey murmured. "I'm sorry."

_'What do you mean?'_ Jonathan snorted, turning to face the soldier as he adjusted his stance to bear more of his weight, tucking Jonathan closer to his chest. The wyvern was confused as he caught the movement in the corner of his eye. The brief flash of Geoffrey's hand retracting an item from his boot. It wasn't until he felt the arm snake back around him that it made sense.

Jonathan jerked suddenly, mustering what energy he had left in his weary limbs to squirm free.

_'No! No no no no!'_

"Please stop wiggling. Just let it come easy." Geoffrey started to tighten his hold but Jonathan was adamant to resist, kicking his legs to get them back underneath himself, he flapped his wings and knocked the soldier off balance, causing the knife he had been holding to fall to the ground. The tip had just barely grazed the back of his skull where the tissue was softer and less resistant.

Jonathan let out a bewildered cry of distress as Geoffrey cursed loudly.

Rolling his whole body over, Jonathan managed to pin his lover against the ground, straddling his weight carefully so as not to hurt him. Geoffrey cursed, reaching for the knife that was just out of his grasp in a desperate attempt at defending himself. The wyvern swatted the weapon away with his wing, ensuring that there was no chance he could arm himself again.

"Why couldn't ya just let it happen ya stupid beast?" Geoffrey hissed in frustration as he grappled at Jonathan's wounded wing, wrenching on the tender spot that made him screech as sudden sharp bolts of pain lanced up the length of bone and muscle and through his chest. Jonathan adjusted his stance and dropped his head to capture Geoffrey's arm between his teeth. He pried the limb away, mindful not to break skin but hard enough to threaten it, forcing the soldier to relinquish his grasp or lose his sword arm.

It brought Jonathan no joy in the threat. It dealt an even deeper blow to the former Scholar that Geoffrey had tried to execute him. Albeit in a painless and humane manner, but the reality of the man's attempt left him stricken and sickened to the stomach. He wanted to scream and cry and demand answers all at once but lacked the ability to do any of it. 

The general appeared just as distraught as he writhed and bucked to force the Wyvern off of him as he pleaded. "Just end it now."

The words were a cold blade to Jonathan's heart as it thundered loudly within his chest. _'What?'_

"Send me home to him! Come on ya stupid beast!" Geoffrey shouted, kicking at Jonathan's leg to goad the wyvern into biting down. When the act didn't seem to do much more than pull a huff of hot air from Jonathan's chest, Geoffrey broke down.

"I'm so tired." Geoffrey gasped sharply as the tears started to form in his eyes, the well of emotions rising in agitated waves he tried to blink away. His voice broke as he continued. "I just want to see him again."

Jonathan slowly released his deadly grasp on the soldier, cocking his head slowly to stare him down as Geoffrey retracted his grasp with trembling hands and covered his face with a sniffle. His filthy palms were scraped and speckled with saliva from Jonathan's dangerous jaws.

"Stupid fecking beast can't do a single thing right. What good are ya?" He hissed and shoved a hand at Jonathan to push him off. Jonathan refused to obey as Geoffrey huddled in on himself.

"You burned them all to death yet ya can't even do me this kindness so I can go home to my Jonny." Geoffrey shook his head slowly. "Or maybe you know something I don't. Hampton makes you beasts sound like gods that command the will of our nature. Maybe ya can already smell the blood on my hands. I don't blame 'em if I'm not good enough to go where Jonathan is."

Jonathan let out a trill, so longingly as he laid himself against Geoffrey, effectively pinning the soldier once more, this time to cuddle him as he tucked his wings in close and nuzzled his muzzle against his chest. Geoffrey shook his head in refusal.

"Don't patronize me beast."

_'Oh you stupid ridiculous foolish man!'_ Jonathan chastised as he let out a loud bellow from his throat that rang in the warm mid day air. His snout searched Geoffrey determinedly until he found the scent of charred metal he had caught a whiff of in the past but couldn't quite place what it was. The static pulse that thrummed through him the moment he connected with it caused both of them to gasp at the jolt.

"What are ya doin?" Geoffrey gasped as he squirmed and reached for the item. Jonathan slipped the replacement leather cord out of Geoffrey's fingers and maneuvered it over the soldier's face in an attempt to put it on him. It failed and resulted in him catching the soldier's nose. He snatched at the cord again to steal it back from Jonathan. The tear tracks dried against his filthy face as his sorrows turned to frustrated determination.

Eventually Jonathan managed to get it over his head, at least part way and it appeared to have clicked with Geoffrey as to what he was doing. He helped maneuver it the rest of the way until it was lying against his chest, the slightly warped impression wasn't too bad. With a deep breath, Jonathan breathed a plume of fire against it. The flash of fear in Geoffrey's eyes was brief as he opened his mouth to protest before his eyes grew wide.

"Jonathan?"

_'Through the eyes of Myrddin, may we seek truth and truth be witnessed before us for knowledge of what is, is as powerful as the wisdom of what could be.'_ Jonathan echoed a piece of the oath he had sworn himself to, and part of the enchantment that was bestowed upon his medallion. The ability to see _through_ illusions beyond the lies and deceit of an ever changing world. The real secret of the scholars that they were sworn to never divulge by threat of death. In this case, all it needed was a little bit of his touch to give Geoffrey the same gift of _insight_ that he had always had.

"Jonathan!" Geoffrey's eyes closed as tears trickled out without stopping. "Oh by the gods!" He lamented, reaching out for the man behind the spell. His wails followed quickly as realization struck him like lightning to an unfortunate tree. He cracked under the weight.

"I tried to kill you! Gods have mercy. Jonathan I'm so sorry." Jonathan leaned into Geoffrey's touch and relished in the sensation of a truly loving embrace he had missed so dearly. The desperate clutching power of the soldier's arms snaked around his neck as he grappled and held him so tightly and yet, it still wasn't enough.

_'I would have rather you didn't try to stab me but I understand why you were so distraught. You are forgiven, my dear.'_ Jonathan purred.

"You- what happened?"

_'Lord Redgrave cast a curse upon me. I can only assume my medallion's enchantment turned the spell to protect me but made me a wyvern in the process.'_ He huffed in annoyance. _'I wish it had chosen something with opposable thumbs. You have no idea how miserable this has all been. Geoffrey, I have been eating nearly raw meat! Can you even imagine how disgusting that is?'_

"I can imagine." Geoffrey released a breathy chuckle. "Someone made me eat some as well." He stated pointedly.

_'Excuse you, I cooked it first. It was perfectly safe.'_ Jonathan huffed.

Geoffrey rolled his eyes and buried his face against Jonathan's neck, smiling foolishly wide as he pulled the wyvern closer. Jonathan felt the strength of his grip squeezing around his neck, thankfully he was far sturdier in this form than his human one otherwise he'd fear a broken bone or an aching neck for all this.

"I missed ya Jon."

_'I missed you too, Geoffrey. I was so scared. All I could think about was whether or not you were safe.'_ Jonathan let out a small whine as he nipped Geoffrey's shoulder gently. The soldier gave a small bobbing motion as Jonathan proceeded to nuzzle the crown of his hair, breathing warm humid air along his skin and scattering his already disheveled locks every which direction.

"If it makes ya feel better, I made that little rat bastard Swansea bleed." Geoffrey grunted, tilting his head to meet the searching eyes of the wyvern though Jonathan could tell the General's mind was still adjusting to being able to see a human perception of Jonathan beyond the draconid physical form. It was confusing and startling at first, something that took a lot of practice to see _both_ sides simultaneously. Sort of like having both eyes open instead of one at a time, adjusting how the world is perceived as a whole. It was the simplest way he could put it.

_'It does a little bit. I don't condone violence but a firm hand of discipline involving the consequences of his actions would be satisfactory.'_

"Noted. Next time I see him, I'll beat his arse and send your regards." Geoffrey winked at him, letting out an amused chuckle as Jonathan shared his own grunt, peeling back his lips in a sharp toothed smile.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like all things VAMPYR and want a cozy little group of fans and other content creators to hang with, stop on by Pembroke Hospital and meet a gang of amazing people still active and eager for Vampyr content and discussions. 
> 
> https://discord.gg/z7jg6Gt


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